


Still, I don't know a thing about love

by HarveyDangerfield, Venn



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Abortion, Accidental Knotting, Broken Bones, Come Inflation, Cunnilingus, Developing Relationship, Discussion of Abortion, Emotional Infidelity, F/M, First Time, Hand & Finger Kink, Heteronormativity, Internalized Misogyny, Loss of Virginity, Marathon Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Meld, Non-Human Genitalia, Polyamory Negotiations, Pon Farr, Premature Ejaculation, Relationship Negotiation, Resolved Sexual Tension, Seduction, Sexual Tension, Squirting, Teacher-Student Relationship, Vaginal Fingering, Vulcan Biology, Vulcan Culture, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-06 20:56:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 57,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20513375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarveyDangerfield/pseuds/HarveyDangerfield, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venn/pseuds/Venn
Summary: A gratuitously self-indulgent collection of vignettes exploring how Spock and Uhura started dating in the academy and their continuing relationship after, loosely based on canon events





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> has this all been done before? i don't know, it was fun to do anyway 
> 
> in this house we stan spuhura

Uhura had never really considered herself one of "those" girls. They went to classes because it was expected of them. Daddy was a commander, or mother was a med-bay officer, or usually some mix of both. A free ticket to space and some relatively-guaranteed interesting travel was a heavy draw to a lot of people, but Uhura had joined the Academy under the guise of making a difference, and she fully planned on making that difference as much as possible.  
  
It started by taking as many advanced placement classes as she could. She tested out of beginning mathematics and biology, as well as Intermediate Phonetics and Linguistics. She had to get out in the field as soon as possible, and that wasn't done by meandering through her courses.  
  
She keeps to herself for the most part, but it doesn't stop her from hearing the excited giggling of a couple upper classmen girls as they talk about the professor in hushed, giddy whispers. He's handsome, One had said. He's Vulcan, Said the other. 'You can try, but he's not interested.'  
  
She didn't need a reason, but Uhura took her seat at the front of the class without the fear the rest of the students seemed to possess, the front row mysteriously clear; Whether it was due to being intimidated by the teacher or respectful of his space, Uhura almost reconsiders her own seat until she sees him.  
  
Not one for sentiment, Uhura finds it nearly alien when her heart twists, pulsing in her chest at the sight of their new professor burns its way into her head: Heavy brows, a wide jaw, soft eyes that could honestly be described as sweet. She sits upright, attention suddenly fully engrossed in her professor. And his content, of course.  
  
It's hard for her to tell how old he is, even after looking at him for a while. He has a sort of boyish softness to his face, but an ageless wisdom in how he speaks and carries himself, the same that all Vulcans have. She's never actually met or even seen a Vulcan in person before him, but she knew all the same snapple facts about Vulcans that everyone has been taught in grade school since their kind made first contact a couple hundred years ago. They live to be 250-300 years old on average, they bleed green, they're obsessed with logic, and they evolved from felines instead of primates, but beyond that Vulcans are as protective about information regarding their inner lives as sinners in church.   
  
She's the youngest person in his class. He'd been surprised when he heard that an 18 year old had tested into his class that has been typically full of 25-30 year olds for the past several semesters, but he showed her no favoritism or interest as he called roll for for the first class, after which he claimed he would memorize their names and no longer need to do a rollcall-- so they should not attempt to slip a fast one past him. He _will_ notice anyone's absence and make a note of it even if they try to get a friend to cover for them.   
  
When he called Uhura's name, the name he'd seen test into his senior-level class from semester one, and she raised her hand, he did pause as he looked at her, for just a moment longer than he'd taken with everyone else, interested to see what a human genius looks like. She looks like every other human. Fascinating.  
  
There's very little to be gleaned from that look. Some say you can decipher a universe in those fleeting gazes, but Uhura has never put much stock in that. Looks could mean so much-- the idea of this class, phonology, was exactly to assist that very problem. Deciphering intent without meaning, the very sort of thing possible with a steady grasp on phonology.That night she got her homework done for the end of the week. It's menial stuff, more a task assigned to test the work ethic of inbound students than it was intended for actual growth, but if the stories she'd heard were any indication, the Vulcan had made sure the material worked for both subjects. After that, she looks ahead in the syllabus and manages to finish a small stack of future assignments, too, to be thorough.   
  
She shows up early to the next class again, though that's really just the type of girl she is, and she's again the first to sit down, selecting the same spot she chose last time-- not only for ease of reference, but also because at this point she has a brand to maintain.  
  
And, from here, when he turns to face the board at the front of the class, Uhura can still see the way his academy-issued uniform fits his hips. It's cute.  
  
He calls for the class's dismissal and Uhura joins the small throng of students around his desk. Many wait there after class to introduce themselves to the new professor, many had done it the other day-- but what was better, approaching a desk with empty hands and a name he already knew? Or a stack of his own assignments completed in sum and presented to him to grade? She opted for the former.  
  
The line dwindles as more and more students try to strike up a conversation, only to fail into awkward, drawn-out silence until they slink away. She waits, and waits, the room getting more and more empty, her stance never once wavering, papers tucked into the crook of her arm until she can set them down on Professor Spock's desk expectantly, under his nose, "I finished the assignments for the next two weeks. The subject matter absolutely fascinates me. I'm Cadet Nyota Uhura," One slim finger points to her name and Cadet number on the corner of the page, "Perhaps you could give me additional work? For extra practice."  
  
He looks up at her with his eyes only for a few seconds before his chin follows. "I know who you are," he says evenly, the first words he's spoken to her directly since the start of class a few days ago. He leafs through the stack of papers briefly, as if checking to see if she'd slipped any blanks in there just to pad the centimeter-thick stack (She had not)  
  
Standing up from his desk on the small stage, he crosses over to a bookshelf and pulls out an old binder or two, leafing through the pages as he searches for something. "You are the student who tested into my class," he says, not as a question, but rather a statement. Vulcans don't make pointless smalltalk by asking questions they already know the answers to. "How many languages do you know already?"  
  
Uhura doesn't leave Spock's desk, almost honored with the trust. Vulcans were supposed to be an intensely private people-- just seeing one walk around and read seemed almost like an intrusion. Like a break in the perfect façade. She takes the opportunity to shift her stance without him looking, eager to look casual in front of him.  
  
She opts for one thigh pressed against the edge of the desk, her fingers clasped professionally in front of her, "Twenty. Spoken," She says without hesitation, "I am also well versed in Morse code, sign language, and flag or smoke signaling, all of which are fairly archaic, but they make for a fun hobby," She watches him with interest, silence lapsing over them both, "Is Spock what people call you?" She asks, looking up at him with something like a pleased, kittenish smile, "Or should I just continue calling you Professor?"  
  
"Spock is my name," the professor answers as he places one binder back and removes another. After a short silence he glances over at her and offers a short half-nod. "Yes, it is what people call me."  
  
Carrying the binder back over to the desk, he holds it out to her with one hand. "This binder contains the sum of our knowledge of the krogan spoken language, both pre and post genophage. It is unclear as to why their language changed so drastically after the genophage was introduced, but as of yet no resources have been diverted to researching the cause. Ordinarily I would not hand this off to a student, but as you are versed in more languages than years you have been alive, I believe it may interest you. At the very least it should fill some time for you in between turning in large stacks of homework on subjects I have yet to cover."  
  
Uhura takes the binder with an appreciative amount of care, scanning through the title sheet fitted beneath the plastic cover, only to experimentally crack it open, as if she'd have any idea the sort of context any of the languages would be in, "I don't like to disappoint," She says, absolutely not sounding humble at all as she tucks her hands behind her back. It makes her spine straighten, her uniform sit just a twinge more snug, and perhaps the most important piece-- her tits looked great.  
  
Vulcans had evolved beyond such carnal motivations, so she'd heard, but honestly Uhura could just imagine the looks on their classmates' faces if they'd even thought they were having a downright _amicable_ conversation right now. How many Cadets had wanted to have a real, scientific conversation with him just in the short amount of time the school year had been in session?  
  
"Is Spock your first or last name?" She asks curiously then, making no move to step away from the desk, the binder giving her more reason to stay, flipping through the well preserved pages, acting casual.  
  
"It is my first name," Spock says without looking up as he picks up her stack of papers again in order to leaf through it with more purpose, black eyes tracing the perfectly neat lines of her handwriting. It's elegant and swoopy, almost cursive in nature. Curious, that cursive had dropped out of common use nearly a century ago, and yet she emulates it in casual paperwork. A personal choice? Perhaps one of efficiency. It occurs to him he doesn't know how to write cursive english.  
  
"Oh?" Uhura looks down at him in his desk where he doesn't look at her, content that his eyes are on her content and confident that he will find very little wrong. He might nitpick. She almost expects him to. "Do you maintain that air of mystery intentionally," She asks, her voice low as she peeks up at him through what little bangs refused to stay slicked down to her forehead, "Or do we only get your last name once we finish the class?"  
  
He glances up at her then, eyes first again and then chin, like he's always deciding first whether whatever he's looking at is worth the effort of lifting his entire head for.  
  
"It is unpronounceable by humans," he says evenly. It almost sounds like a challenge the way he says it, and maybe it would have from literally anyone else, but his voice is as cool and unemotional as those unreadable black eyes.  
  
"I do well with a foreign tongue," Uhura replies just as smooth, looking at Spock evenly over the edge of her gifted binder.  
  
"Can you speak Vulcan?" he asks, a brow raising, and that is a challenge. He can assume from her chosen field of study that she's looked into all available language courses at the school, and has come to learn that the only course teaching the Vulcan language is an extracurricular also taught by him, to which this class she's currently taking is a prerequisite. As are all other classes specifically dedicated to one certain language in the curriculum. Apart from classes designed around the complex language, it's nigh impossible to learn Vulcan, and he can assume that since she grew up in a place where there is a very small population of Vulcans in general, there would not have been an entry-level high school course readily offered to her. There's a less than 4% chance that she speaks Vulcan.  
  
Damn. Vulcan. Ever elusive and important, Vulcan society has been kept tightly-guarded for as long as she'd been alive. Nevermind their status as allies, the human opinion about their Vulcan neighbors was vastly varying, although it was a safe assumption to say that humans didn't treat Vulcans particularly well-- what else was new.   
  
"Not _yet_," Uhura insists, tucking the binder back in the crook of her arm. She appreciated the distraction, but she has something new on her mind now. She was at the Academy, after all; surely there would be a library on the Vulcan language now that she was someplace where they needed it, "I hope to take it as a class. Hopefully you won't be too sick of me by then," She smiles, shameless, leaning forward against the desk again, "I can keep the overachieving to a minimum if you'd prefer your students on the same page." She offers, with no real intent on doing anything but devouring everything on the Vulcan language she could find, and it was obvious.  
  
"On the contrary. Seeing students become so engaged in the material is as refreshing as it is rare. I encourage you to set your own pace throughout the course," Spock says, before his brows furrow slightly as he stops on one of her papers. Glancing it over with some curiosity, he looks back up at her with that little pinch in between his angled brows.   
  
"You are already partially familiar with Klingon?" he asks. Sure she's never met a Vulcan before, but she's pretty sure she can pick out impressed surprise when she sees it.  
  
"As familiar as I can be without the library that the Academy has," Uhura says, nodding, "I am far from an expert, but I've done some fairly remedial investigation into their language, although I hope with time I'll be able to find more about their people," Looking over, she spots the page he's hit and smiles, only allowing herself to preen a little bit. The Klingon was perhaps a bit stuffy and formal in address, but it was structurally sound-- a feat for even a well-rounded scholar, nonetheless a young girl. "Are you familiar, Professor?" She asks, leaning over his desk for no better reason than she wanted to see her hair spill over her shoulder, forming a curtain between them and the classroom.  
  
"Conversationally," he says, fully aware of the fact that referring to any parlance with the klingons as "conversation" is an oymoron. "I have no doubts you will surpass me within a few semesters. This class does not focus specifically on klingon, though I am getting the impression that you intend to take every language extracurricular available. Is that why you are testing past base-level courses in which you could obtain high grades with minimal effort? I must assume you are aware that you could graduate ahead of schedule by undertaking a higher courseload of classes you have already naturally surpassed. By choosing not to, you demonstrate a desire to learn over a desire simply to succeed, am I mistaken?"  
  
Oh, a hole in one. Surely she offered more mystery than that-- but Vulcans were known to dissect the company they kept, and she was practically begging to be dissected; Wasn't that the point of this conversation?   
  
"Starfleet is not a place one should go if they're simply looking to pass an easy course load," She says, with a surprising amount of very serious steel muddying her voice, "I'm afraid you will have to do some actual teaching. I'm sure I'll have questions eventually," She adds with a little note of pride, gesturing to her newfound prized possession, the binder. "I'll leave you to my work," She adds, stepping away to take her leave before pausing, apparently reconsidering in lieu of leaning across the desk again and turning her packet to one page in particular-- "I've outlined a particular dialogue here. I would love your contribution to the conversation."  
  
It wasn't really a conversation at all, as Klingons so rarely had, but rather a set of demands-- a message intercepted from home she'd shoehorned to fit into an assignment, and translated with notes regarding sentence structure. It was mostly showing off, but she also wanted to give him a bit of shit for the bold claim that Klingons conversated.  
  
He follows the line of her hand up to her face, and gives an almost catlike head tilt. "Noted," he says smoothly. "Have a good night, Cadet Uhura."  
  
By the time Uhura makes it back out to the hallway, she finds her new roommate standing outside the door. She and Gaila aren't exactly besties yet, but they've gotten off to a very good start so far. The orion is grinning at her like she won the lottery as the other girl joins her in walking down the hall.   
  
"You were _flirting_ with him," she says, sounding thrilled.  
  
"With the way some of the girls spoke about him, I half expected he'd grow fangs and start hissing," Uhura replies, not even bothering to deny it. And why should she? It was for fun, just fun. Vulcans were so damn serious about who they took as a partner, it was a decently low-impact choice.  
  
Still, she looks a little pleased as she says it, glancing down the hall as if she's a kid with a secret, "You watched it all?" She asks, without judgement for the answer.  
  
"I watched most of it," she says, still grinning. "Your foot popped."  
  
That draws her short, making Uhura pause her walking to look sideways at her, "My foot _what?"_  
  
"Your foot _popped!"_ Gaila repeats. "Boop! Right up in the air. Like a princess. Do you _like_ him?"  
  
"My foot didn't _pop_," Uhura argues, immediately rolling her eyes, "I would have felt my foot raising in the air, and he's my professor. Playful ribbing does not immediately equate to feelings, Gaila."  
  
"Your foot popped, I saw it with my own two eyes," she says. "Okay maybe not all the way up in the air but it definitely came off the ground. I know what I saw! Who cares if he's our professor? Sure you'd have more luck flirting with a concrete wall, but he's cute!"  
  
"So, do you know the chances of our Vulcan Professor reciprocating even playful flirting with a freshman? I want to see what I can get away with, that's all," Uhura shrugs one shoulder as she continues walking. She doesn't mention to Gaila that she's paying particular attention to her foot, specifically whether or not she could feel it in the air or not, "You should talk to him sometime, he's not as rigid as you might think."  
  
"Me talk to him? Vulcans hate orions, especially females. You know our pheremones don't even work on them? Not a whiff. I might as well be invisible in front of a vulcan. Besides," she nudges her shoulder into Uhura's. "I thought you'd _prefer_ him rigid."  
  
Uhura can't help the wicked little grin on her face as she glances up at Gaila. It was strange, to fall into a friendship so easily, particularly after so long assuming the worst and without any proper 'girl friends' of her own, it was a welcome change, if surprising. "What I _prefer_ doesn't matter," She argues, "Besides, Professor Spock is apparently half human. Maybe he'd be more delicate on your ego."  
  
"Half human, really?" she seems surprised, and makes a soft hum of consideration, like she's actually thinking about giving her sex juju the old college try on Mr. Spock.  
  
That hard, serious self raises as soon as she hears the genuine note of curiosity overtake her friend's voice, and she pauses in the hall, reaching out a hand to stop Gaila in her tracks, looking up at her seriously, "Flirting is fine and good, but remember what we said? They won't take you seriously if you actually bring every professor back to your room."  
  
Gaila gives a long-suffering sigh, rolling her head and shoulders back. "Alriiight," she says. "I'll only pick one. And I'll leave Mr. Broody to you."  
  
Uhura doesn't bother hiding her immediate pleasure with Gaila's decision, "I have the better in, anyway," She says, flicking her hair over her shoulder with a smug little smile, winking over at her friend as she continues down the hall. "Pheromones or not, I've already established rapport."


	2. Chapter 2

One month later, and Uhura still can't figure him out. There's something intriguingly indecipherable about the vulcan. The way he talks to her, and the way he holds his posture around her all indicate an icy kind of professionalism. But there's a burning intrigue in his eyes every time she talks to him one on one that she _might_ be reaching for, but she could swear is interest. Maybe it's the fact that she's the most overachieving student in his classes, but she has to assume that he's at least fascinated by her on a professional level. Maybe that's all she'll ever get, but honestly with how vulcans seem to be about selecting relationships of all kinds, including friendships, even that would be an honor.   
  
Still, he manages to make her stomach do That Thing every time she sees him without expecting to. This time when entering an elevator in the trade building at the center of campus. He indicates the button panel, ready to push the one for her floor, but it looks like they're headed to the same floor already-- all the way to the top.   
  
They have a view of the afternoon campus through the glass back wall of the elevator while it climbs the stories, ten and then twenty and higher, and right when enough polite silence has passed for one of them to make light conversation as they await to arrive at floor 55, the elevator suddenly wheezes, and then shudders, and the hydraulic clamps lock into place, sealing them inside the elevator at a crisp 33 floors, half a mile over the ground below and half a mile under the looming top of the curved building above. Uhura's never been caught in an elevator before, but to Spock this seems to be nothing but a mild annoyance.   
  
"I was under the impression they fixed this issue. Again," he says, his tone even. "This is the third time I have been trapped in this very same elevator in the past six months."  
  
Oh, Uhura could hear Gaila from here, smug and squealing all the way back in their room. It'd be a lie to say she didn't feel something similar-- getting on the elevator with Spock at all had been a trial in judgement, the anticipation building with every floor climbed until 33 hits and leaves them hanging.  
  
"Three times in six months?" Uhura repeats, her voice a low drawl, "Some might think you enjoy getting stuck in this elevator," She does her best to ignore the raise of panic that threatened to worm itself into her brain. She was 18 still, and at times it showed, her isolation from the outside world without a safety net still largely new to her. She did well at keeping a lid on it, though, and this time was no exception; Her fear manifested itself, instead, in the actions she took. Stepping closer to the wall, she chances a look down, then up. Nope. Definitely no help to be had from either floor.   
  
His calm helps her own, and Uhura doesn't fight the urge to latch onto his reserved confidence and use it for her own, "It will take any team a significant amount of time to reach us," She admits, staying carefully away from the glass-backed wall, allowing herself the comfort, at least, of looking at Spock. Honestly, he was never a bad look. Under times of duress fell under that umbrella.  
  
"So, Professor," Uhura drawls, her hands wrapping around the slim, metal bar running parallel to the floor around the entire width of the elevator. She looks up at him through thick bangs, curious, "How are you enjoying the school year so far?" Smalltalk to kill the time was a perfectly valid idea.  
  
That little furrow returns to his brow when she asks her question, a furrow she's come to notice, that wrinkles his brow far more often when he's talking with her one on one than in any other situation she ever sees him in. His brow is always flat and unlined during class, it only ever seems to be when he's with her that he gets confused, like he's constantly trying to unpuzzle her.   
  
"I do not teach because I derive personal pleasure from it," he finally says. "The curriculum is unchanged. I have not noticed any particular difference in the overall pattern of this semester as opposed to previous ones."  
  
Awkward. He looks from her to the doors, inspecting them. "A moment," he says, stepping away from her to the doors. Fitting his fingers between the metal doors is a challenge, not to mention uncomfortable, but once he has the leverage, he spreads the doors without even outwardly struggling, as if they didn't have hundreds of pounds of pressure keeping them closed. They open to display a blank metal wall behind them, confirming that they are in fact stuck helplessly between floors. He steps back, rubbing feeling back into his fingertips and allowing the doors to close once again. "The first time I was trapped here, it took them six hours to find me. The second time, four hours, though I was not alone. I calculate based on their knowledge that this elevator is faulty, it should take them no more than an hour or two to rescue us."  
  
Uhura watches quietly during the display, his experience with the door, the miraculously little effort expanded in hefting the door open, then letting it shut as though it was nothing. It's so easy to forget that Vulcans are very, very different physiologically, their humanoid appearance and speaking easy to translate into human norms. A feat like that, though, leaves Uhura curious, and that fluttery warm feeling soaking into her stomach and chest as it is so want to do in Spock's presence.   
  
"I must admit, I've never met a Vulcan before," She says, her voice surprisingly quiet, whether due to the influx of warmth flooding her stomach or nerves it was hard to tell. Looking from the elevator doors to Spock, she gives him an actual, proper-once over. It was impossible to be subtle, close as they were, and Uhura didn't try to be, "What _do_ your people derive personal pleasure from?"  
  
Spock either completely misses her blatant flirtation, or chooses not to comment on it, and she legitimately can't tell which it is. Either way, he catches her eye unflinchingly.   
  
"We do not," he says evenly. "Our species is explicitly unhedonistic. We do no pursue pleasure in any form, our growth as a species is based in logical and rational decision making, rather than personal gain of any kind."  
  
"Then what about you?" Uhura asks curiously, tilting her head. She leans back against the railing, hoping the forced, cavalier attitude would somehow rub off on her actual nerves, "You could say humanity is the direct opposite. Have you had conflict with the different ideologies your whole life? Humanity is almost exclusively hedonism."  
  
"I would not agree with that assessment of your species," he says, still standing stock straight in the middle of the elevator. "In fact, in my time getting to know humankind, I have found that there is not a single personality trait which can be applied to every one of your kind. You are the most variable and individualistic species I have ever encountered."  
  
“We can be excessive,” Uhura admits, and sounds put-upon as she does, tilting her head back and catching just a glimpse of that sunny day beyond the glass of their cage. She exposes a long expanse of her throat, her body a thin, lithe line perched against the glass, “I would say you ought to experience it, so you could say you had, but you truly aren’t missing much.”  
  
"To what are you referring?" he asks, his brow cocking in that way that makes her stomach twist. "Humanity? I have spent a good portion of my life among humanity. In that time I have met humans of all kinds with varying motivations for their actions, from greed to lust, envy, scholarly ambition and more."  
  
"You formed deep connections with all of these people?" Uhura asks, her voice without judgement, and curious as she watches him. How can she be the one pulling out all the flirtatious stops, but she's still the one in the passenger's seat? She's controlling the conversation, but she really can't get him to break, "It's odd for Vulcans to think so highly of us, isn't it?"  
  
He opens his mouth a bit, and then closes it. It seems she's finally gotten him on something, but it only takes him a moment to recover. "A vulcan does not form deep connections easily, Cadet Uhura," he says. "We choose our friends extremely carefully. In most cases, a true friendship with a vulcan is not formed unless both parties are in a state known as kaunsh'es, or to put it in human parlance-- soulmates."  
  
She nods. That makes more sense than anything else, coming from the mouth of a Vulcan, himself. Releasing her grip on the barred rail, she takes a step into the center of the elevator. It's the closest they've been to one another, the safety of a desk usually between them, but no more, "Then you really don't know how excessive we can be," She admits, looking up at him after bouncing, just once, onto her tip-toes, then back down again. Stay down, foot.  
  
He's silent for a long moment, holding her eye. He doesn't seem either interested or disturbed by her closeness. He finally says simply, "I have observed."  
  
"In what proximity?"  
  
"As close as I am willing to get," he says, with the first sense of a warning tone in his voice that she's ever heard.  
  
Uhura gives him another not-so-sly once-over, their intimate closeness and his warning enough to go straight to her head and get her absolutely not thinking clearly. She doesn't move despite every brain cell telling her she ought to.   
  
"Like I said," She admits, finally taking a step back-- and the room suddenly feels as if it was full of fresh air again, as if her lungs were inflating for the first time since birth, "You aren't missing much." Is her face warm? Her face feels warm.  
  
"I will keep that in mind next time I feel tempted to undergo a hedonistic binge," Spock says, telling the first joke Uhura's ever come from him. And she's heard so much about how vulcans have no sense of humor!  
  
Her eyes snap to him-- as if she needs a reason-- and she smiles, a private little thing, as if the joke had been just for her. It was, of course, he wasn't exactly talking to anyone else, but it felt different, "Cruel of you to tell a joke knowing no one will believe me if I tell them you did, Professor Spock," She chastises, with a voice without heat.  
  
Oh, no. He feels something dangerously close to a smile tug on his cheeks. It reaches his eyes anyway, they wrinkle slightly at the corners as he looks at her.   
  
"Perhaps vulcans are more capable of quid pro quo than you suspect," he says evenly before moving from the center of the elevator for the first time. He puts his back to the wall and then lowers himself down to sit on the floor of the elevator in a perfect cross-legged position, resting his hands together in his lap.  
  
Uhura stays standing, not wanting to look like a follower and frankly liking her view from above, although it does give her a dangerously good view of his hair, which she does want to play with, just as dangerously, "Perhaps it's better if they keep that to themselves," She says petulantly, "We have to be better than you Vulcans are something. Aside from hedonism."  
  
"Oh, but you are so much better at us than that already," Spock says. "Surely, you deserve an award for your efforts--" his joke (two in as many minutes?? its staggering) is cut off by a realization and he shakes his head. "As soon as I have verbalized it, I realize you already award yourself for your own hedonism. Just this past weekend I overheard two cadets speaking about a _milk chugging contest_," he says, and though his tone is disdainful, his eyes are still sparkling. "Your kind continues to surprise me at every opportunity. You, however, do not seem the type to indulge in such activities."  
  
Slowly, Uhura slides down too, until she's sitting on the floor with him, not wanting him to look up at her-- even sitting she was so much smaller than him, though it wasn't as readily apparent, thank goodness, legs tucked beneath her lest she give him some sort of a show. The skirt was long enough, though, and her position was careful, not a blip of thigh to be seen.   
  
"I don't seem the type for milk chugging contests, or hedonism, Professor?"  
  
"Either," Spock inclines his head towards her.  
  
It's Uhura's turn to smile coyly and shrug, her eyes never once leaving Spock as she watches him through her lashes, "Hedonism is a variety," She admits, "My favorite involves less dairy."  
  
Spock looks like he doesn't really know what to do with that. Some part of him is curious about what her "favorite" form of hedonism is, but he gets the feeling that it would be extremely inappropriate to ask. Clearing his throat, he looks out at the view of campus from their vantage point, where the sun is slowly setting.   
  
"I believe we are going to be late to our respective engagements," he says. There's a faint green tint to the tips of his ears that wasn't there before. "If you require a note of some sort I would be happy to write one for you."  
  
"I'm supposed to be tutoring a couple of interns on generalized syntax," Uhura admits, glancing down at the time on her wrist, "I'm quite sure they're going to be ecstatic when I don't show up." She rolls her eyes as she finishes, shaking her head, "Hopefully you weren't going someplace time sensitive?"  
  
"I was," Spock says. "However, I believe my absence will be forgiven, considering the nature of this elevator. I am beginning to consider 55 flights of stairs as a viable alternative."  
  
She laughs at that, leaning her shoulder against the wall as she scoffs, "I think I prefer my current company over 55 flights of stairs," She says without shame, "Though perhaps you have a greater appreciation for stairs than I do."  
  
"You have not been trapped in the same elevator four times," Spock says, quirking an eyebrow in her direction and almost smiling. "I believe my appreciation for stairs has grown exponentially with each imprisonment."  
  
"Maybe you ought to stop having your meetings on the 55th floor," She says, noting the slight crinkle in the corners of his eyes, the tinge in his ears. Warmth zips through to her fingertips, and it takes a considerable amount of willpower for Uhura not to demonstrate her excitement, keeping her face even.  
  
A silence settles over them as she looks at flashing 'SERVICE' light, "At what point do we know they're even on their way?"  
  
Spock glances up at the light as well, and offers a very soft sigh. "We do not," he shakes his head. "If you are feeling impatient, we could climb through the hatch in the ceiling, and I could open the doors a floor above. If my calculations are correct, the doors to the next story should only be two feet above the ceiling of our current position."  
  
Uhura looks at Spock, plainly surprised by the seemingly well thought-out plan, "You really weren't kidding when you said you were sick of being trapped in this elevator, were you?" She asks curiously, looking up at the ventilation shaft through the top of the elevator, wrinkling her nose.  
  
"I really was not kidding," Spock confirms, and he stands up. Bracing his hand on the wall, he's able to reach the ceiling simply by arching up onto his toes, and he turns the crank and shoves the door hard enough that it flies open and whangs against the roof of the elevator. Sure enough, the doors are visible just past the hatch, and he looks back down at her. "It could be another hour or more before we are rescued. Would you like a boost?"  
  
Pulling herself to her feet, she squints beyond the vent to the obvious silver doors gleaming tauntingly above them. Spock had proven twice now that feats of strength came easy to him, so it was feasible they could be out onto solid ground in less than ten minutes. She looks from the now-open door to Spock, then back again, "If you'd be so kind," She says humbly, and steps over to him, waiting for him to put his hand down or give some indication where to step.  
  
Spock doesn't offer his hands as a stepping stone, for reasons she doesn't understand yet. Without knowing about the nature of vulcan hands, something they keep intensely private to themselves, she doesn't know why he chooses instead to take her by the waist and lift. It makes her heart slam up into her mouth when Spock's large, warm hands close around her tiny waist, and he effortlessly lifts her up high enough for her to get her arms and chest above the door of the hatch. She's never felt so absolutely weightless before, the way he moves her makes her feel like she's made of tissue paper, like she weighs nothing more than a bird.  
  
It's very fortunate that Spock is lifting her up and away from his line of sight, because her poker face leaves something to be desired. Despite her best attempts to school it into something neutral and unaffected, she absolutely couldn't hold it, a deep burgundy burning across her cheeks. She gets her arms under herself and lifts, biceps straining as she pulls herself up.   
  
There's a rush of air as her momentum follows the heft of her arms, a breeze tugging at the hem of her skirt until-- thanks to Spock's pure proximity-- it flutters up to reveal the line of black lace across her ass. Her reaction is immediate to the breeze, skirt slipping up and only offering more of an eyeful before she manages to pull herself fully onto the dais, "I'm so sorry, did I flash you a bit, there?"  
  
Spock has considered in the past, how a Vulcan's inability to lie might actually be a hindrance more than anything else, and precisely in situations like this he considers it all over again. A white lie, as they're called, or a victimless lie really wouldn't do anymore any harm here. It would spare her modesty, and spare him the shame of having to admit that he saw everything. And while technically a vulcan's inability to lie isn't chemical as much as socially ingrained, and there is nothing physically preventing him from lying, a lifetime of servitude to a single ideology would make him suffer for days or weeks or longer with the lie he told, until he felt compelled to admit to her a long time later that he had in fact been flashed her lacy undercarriage. Something, he imagines, which would be much worse than simply answering truthfully now.   
  
"A bit," he admits, clearing his throat. "My apologies. I could not avert my eyes quickly enough."   
  
Uhura knew Vulcans couldn't lie, but she had been stupid enough to ask the question anyway. Of course he'd seen. He would have been blind if he hadn't, she had felt that breeze across her entire underside. A heavy knot of embarrassment settles in the hollow of her throat, and she's just thankful Spock hasn't pulled himself up, so she can press the heels of her palms into her eyes to get herself under control. Nope. She's going to ignore he absolute whirlwind of emotions making her stomach feel nauseous.   
  
Taking a deep breath, she pulls herself to her feet, finally, glancing down into the elevator, "Do you need a hand up? I doubt I'll be able to see your underwear from up here," She offers, her tone the picture of professionalism as she tries to make a joke out of it, for everyone's sakes.  
  
"I am not wearing a skirt," Spock says. He doesn't take her offered help, instead leaping high enough to hook his elbows over the edge of the hatch, and he lifts himself up easily, as if he isn't wearing a full body wool uniform. Straightening his jacket by the bottom once he's on his feet, he strides over to the door and pries it open with just as much ease as he had before. A few people glance in their direction and gasp at the sight of the upper halves of two people hanging out in an elevator shaft, and a couple of them rush forward to assist Uhura in climbing out (underneath Spock's arm, as he's holding the door open) and then hold the doors apart after for him to climb up. They clap, for some reason Spock doesn't understand, and then disperse relatively quickly as the Vulcan inspects a clock on the wall.   
  
"Your students are most likely gone by now, but I must attend to my meeting, late or not. It was... diverting, being trapped with you today, Cadet Uhura."  
  
Glancing at her watch again, her lips twitch into a frown, knowing he's right. They probably wouldn't have stayed more than ten minutes past their meeting time, eager for any opportunity to miss a session. Their parents paid her regardless, but she was one of the best tutors on campus, so she had a fair bit of pride in her success rate. As the crowd around them disperses, Uhura glances to the nearby stairwell, also not looking forward to the 33 floors down she would now have to take. With a sigh, she looks over at Spock, shaking her head, wondering what the chances were of him calling her Nyota if she prompted-- probably not very high. So instead she nods and straightens her back, as if ready to get to work.   
  
"I look forward to your classes next week, professor-- Perhaps take the stairs with another professor after your meeting so you don't end up stranded in here, either." She says with a small smile, unable to meet his gaze for more than a fleeting second before she looks away again, ducking her head and heading to the stairs as fast as she could, frankly proud of herself for not running away at the first opportunity.


	3. Chapter 3

Uhura hadn't expected Spock to be one of the chaperone professors to the alien world survival training exercise, but then again, he does teach an ethics course in dealing with other species-- so it does make some amount of sense. Privately, he just likes to go when they're running the desert simulation, because it reminds him of Vulcan.   
  
The training exercise is a week long, time during which students are split up into teams and told to find ways to survive off the land. It's not as if any of them are truly in danger of starving to death or being killed by wildlife, but it gives the kids an opportunity to make decisions as teams, and figure out ways to identify water and food sources. Typically the teachers remain above to observe, but there's usually one or two on the ground with the students just in case of emergency. This semester, Spock is one of these professors, wearing all white so they can be easily picked out of the landscape by needy students.   
  
After being separated from her group following an attack by a holographic wildernast that caused her to slide down the unstable, rockslide-prone landscape, she follows the signs of life hoping to track down another group that will let her join, and instead she comes upon the sight of the vulcan professor, standing at the edge of a canyon overlooking the landscape, dressed pristinely in white with his hands clasped behind his back as he watches the sun slowly paint the sky in stripes of color while it sets.  
  
Uhura wonders what her luck has become, the strange series of events that continuously gives her these opportunities. Gaila likes to talk about putting out energy and it coming back to you-- it certainly felt like it was true. The very cosmos had to align for most of their interactions, but like the many before it, Uhura wasn't complaining.   
  
She does a quick mental check, patting herself to make sure she was presentable enough, her high ponytail twisted into a high bun to keep it out of the trees and debris, although her tumble had knocked it loose a bit, making her look just a touch more disheveled than she would typically dare to, "I wasn't aware you were one of the ground chaperones, Professor Spock," She says with vague interest in her voice as she looks at the overlook with him, surprised by the beauty of it. "You've found quite the view."  
  
Spock had heard her approach for some time, the crunching of her boots apparent, but as a ground chaperone he was supposed to not interact with any of the students unless they explicitly ask him for help, so he hadn't turned to look at who was coming up to him. It wasn't until he heard her voice that he nearly had to roll his eyes at the universe. Of _course_ it's her. He just can't catch a break.   
  
"Sunsets on earth are unparalleled in their beauty," he says, glancing at her before looking back out at the sky. "On vulcan, sunsets are only two colors-- yellow and orange. Only on earth have I ever seen a sunset that is pink, purple and blue as well."  
  
"Yellow and orange can be lovely in its way, too," Uhura offers, taking a couple of steps to stand beside him, unsure if it was weirder or not to do so but opting to just go for it. Worst case he moves away. When he doesn't, she looks up at him, "This is rather far away from gameplay, isn't it?"  
  
He glances down at her again. "I suppose it is," he says. "However, the cadets will be hunkering down for the night. I thought I could afford the time for meditative contemplation. Speaking of, where is your group?"  
  
"Camping, I assume," She admits with a small shrug, "I fell down a ravine and got separated, they continued on without me. I've been trying to track down the main gameplay for about two hours, now," Uhura admits with a little roll of her eyes, "Plenty of time for meditative contemplation."  
  
Spock's brow furrows, and he turns to face her halfway. "They _abandoned_ you?"  
  
"I'm not surprised. I've gained a reputation," Uhura says with another shrug, glancing up to meet his look.  
  
He quirks a brow. "A reputation for what?"  
  
"Knowing more than my peers. Male egos are fragile, no offense," She offers with a little shrug.  
  
"Vulcans have no ego," Spock says. "So no offense has been taken. Your teammates were Daniels, Riverson, Kirohe, Rivar and Peterbend, correct?"  
  
"Did you memorize everyone's team composition?" She's fairly certain he did, implying that he was paying her attention was nice wishful thinking, if nothing else. Uhura goes on to nod her affirmation, "Yes, they are," Some would no doubt take the words as throwing her peers under the bus, but she wasn't going to sugar coat the truth, nor feel shame for speaking it. So she didn't.  
  
Spock's brow quirks again and he simply says, "Noted," before he looks back out at the sunset again. He's silent for some time as they watch the sun slowly dip lower in the sky, until he speaks again.   
  
"My favorite part of the sunset is when it is so low on the horizon that it forms a red line, that fades into orange and yellow, forming a thin line of green where the yellow meets blue and deepens into black overhead. It is the shortest moment of the sunset, but the most beautiful." Does this qualify as Vulcan rambling? Surely not.  
  
"I can leave, if you'd like," Uhura offers, her voice soft and sincere as she looks up at him, his rambling uncommon and unlike him, "I interrupted your meditation. I should let you get back to it," She says, sounding embarrassed as she takes a step away. The last thing she wanted was to interrupt alone time he was certain not to get much of on this trip; and she did have a camp to find.  
  
"It's alright--" he starts, but as he turns to-- what, reach out to her? Touch her? Heaven forbid-- his foot scuffs the ground in just the wrong way.   
  
The rocks of this world are unstable, and really he should have known better than to stand on the edge like he was. It's his fault when the ground gives way, and both of them plunge down the canyonside. For Uhura this is her second drop down the unsteady rocksliding terrain, but it's a first for Spock. She hears him yelp in surprise as the two of them are dropped unceremoniously down into a pocket on the side of the canyon, deposited into a cave barely bigger than a standard closet. The dust settles and she's left to roll over onto her hands and knees, hacking and wheezing, but a moment later she hears a hiss of genuine agony come from Spock.   
  
Scrambling for her light, she turns it on to find him half-buried in loose silt and debris, holding his hands out in front of him, breathing hard and shaking. She can see that his palms have been horribly scraped up to the point of bleeding, deep emerald blood dripping off the sides of his hands and into the dust around his hips. His brow is furrowed, dust clinging to his skin with sweat over his forehead, and he grits his teeth to keep from making much noise as he inspects the damage of his hands with a pained grimace.  
  
Uhura doesn't think, she hurries to her feet and rushes to Spock's side, kneeling in the debris beside him as she shines the light on his palms and tugs at the bag on her hip, "We really have to stop meeting like this, Professor," She says, her voice light as she tries to distract him. She has a spare cloth, but had long since finished her water.   
  
She takes his hands with hers a she inspects them closely, hands cradling his as she looks over the myriad of fine scrapes and tears across his palms, "Are you alright?" She asks, trying to catch his eyes with her's, hoping to keep his attention, "Do you have a water bottle so I can flush out your hands?" Her voice is gentle as she pries, leaning in to nudge him expectantly. Anything to get his brain moving and hopefully not focusing on the pain. She was surprised it was so debilitating to the vulcan. This was the same man who had ripped elevator doors open the last time they were alone together, now become prone due to a couple scrapes on his palms. Granted they were bad, but the difference was confusing.  
  
Perhaps he was injured in another way, something broken beneath the rubble, but unless she can get him talking, she won't know. For the moment he just shakes his head, his breathing labored as the pain radiates down his arms. Pain he couldn't even describe to her in words if he tried. It feels like his hands are being held to an open flame, burning and searing with such intensity it makes him feel close to fainting or vomiting-- or potentially both. There's a surprising amount of blood dripping from the lacerations, for them being mostly superficial surface wounds, decorating the debris under him with spots of rich green.  
  
Her worry kicks up a notch at his voiceless response. Not promising. Worry begins to pound just under her jaw, a steady pulsing heartbeat that makes her breathing go slow and steady as her head moves into something more methodical. Her fingers yank at her bag again, pulling out tweezers, as well as gauze and small packets of gel that encourages healing-- but the lacerations had to be clean for it to work. "Professor, I'm going to sort out your hands, but I'll have to get creative in doing so, is that alright? Just nod, yes or no, if you can't speak."  
  
Spock finally looks up from his torn hands to her eyes. She can see that his vision is hazy, like he's getting close to passing out. Had he hit his head? Is he concussed? Whatever the reason for his lack of speech, he simply gives her a shaking, tortured nod, his face flushed a bright, sickly green through the dust. If she has an idea to stop the pain, he'd let her _pee_ on them if that's what it took.  
  
The worry in her throat is a heavy pounding, constant and relentless. Her hands, despite the adrenaline thudding through her veins, remain absolutely steady. Tweezers make quick work of the largest pieces of rock and gravel, a slim handkerchief holding his hands up, a corner of which was being used to gently brush away any rock dust or extraneous debris. She hesitates, swallowing heavily-- what were her options? All major gravel removed, she hesitates for a beat, remembers the dazed look on Spock's face, and promptly drags the broad flat of her wet tongue across a long, shallow cut up his palm. She has little other choice to get the dirt off his hands.  
  
Spock feels it like a _gutpunch_ when she cleans his hand with saliva. The rocks of this training arena are made with a very high concentration of salt, quite on purpose, so without any water her saliva truly is the only thing available to wash away the stinging ache and clean the last of the debris too small to be plucked away, too small to be wiped away, with a greater chance of it being ground into the wounds instead. He knows it's logical.  
  
But this? Perhaps it would be better to suffer with the pain. He shouts like she stabbed him, a sharp, short bark that she mistakes for pain as she spits off to the side to rid her mouth of dust and dirt-- but it's quite the contrary. He knows she must not know about vulcan hands-- very, very few people do. It's not information they make common knowledge, quite on purpose. He can't articulate how dizzy she's just made him, but he's grateful for the dust and debris gathered around his hips and spilling over into his lap, or there's something he knows she'd be bound to notice.  
  
The towel is back, wiping away the blood that had been loosened with the path of her tongue. It looks better cleaned up, so she had to figure it was working despite Spock's shout. A wide-eyed, genuine look of concern is leveled up at him as she cradles his hands in hers and leans over him, swallowing to regain her own saliva back, "It'll be alright, professor, I promise," She urges, clearly misunderstanding his sounds before leaning back over him.   
  
She tucks his pinkie into her mouth first, followed shortly by his ring finger, tongue dragging across the scrapes across them, swiping across them in long, flat strokes to avoid agitating him further. She keeps a careful ear out in case he makes any sounds of worsening pain, willing to stop if he sounds too distressed.  
  
He grits his teeth and turns his nose against his shoulder. His whole body is shaking now, and he can feel his cock swelling unbidden. He should say something, he should tell her, _warn_ her of what she's doing. It feels coercive not to-- but he can't bring himself to form a single word as her lips and tongue clean his hand of debris. Breathing heavily, brow furrowed, he keeps his head ducked down and to the side, groaning softly. It's easy to mistake his noises for pain-- pain and pleasure sound very similar after all, both are noises caused by an abundance of sensation overtaking the body, simple expulsions of air and sound.   
  
He is so far from pain now that he's light-headed. Hunched and trembling he seems like an injured man, but he's absolutely lost in the first genuine sensual touch he's ever felt in his life. He tries to gather the wherewithall to tell her what she's doing, but she licks his palm again when it beads with blood and a wretched, thin little whimper leaves him instead.  
  
She licks across him again, following a long scrape up the center, the flat of her tongue warm and soft against the wound. She pulls away to spit out the debris and his blood, patting him dry and clean as she goes, slowly wrapping more and more of his hand in the towel as she goes on.   
  
An unrelenting speck of gravel resists the gentle, broad strokes of her tongue, wedged in his middle finger. She pulls away, giving Spock another serious look that's meant to be grounding and reassuring in the face of supposed mental torment. She doesn't know Spock is feeling a whole other kind of torment, now, "If I hurt you, let me know." Warning given, she returns to Spock's middle finger and settles her lips over stubborn grit. She sucks, a gentle, pulling motion that tucks his entire finger into her mouth past her lips. Her tongue and her lips work in unison, sucking the stubborn gravel free.  
  
Spock shouts again, doubling over, but he doesn't tell her to stop. If he could just get his voice to work-- would he tell her to stop? Shame fills him. He's a vulcan, he's supposed to be in control, but he feels her lips flex around the base of his finger and his cock throb between his legs, and he can't bring himself to say a single word. Shaking and light-headed, he takes deep, gulping breaths just to ground himself.   
  
He finally manages to say something, but it comes out in broken, hushed vulcan. She's been learning vulcan, and just like most people, she learned the swears first. So she knows full well that he just said the equivalent of "sweet mother of fuck" under his breath, with sweat rolling down his brow. Despite never before having an orgasm, Spock knows full well that he's swiftly approaching one, and she hasn't even finished with the first hand yet. He's going to die in this cave, he just knows it.  
  
How can he be this bad? Uhura tries to suck and lick as gently and quickly as possible, lips and tongue dipping between the groves of his fingers and working over every inch, trying to be just as thorough as she was fast. She couldn't mess this up-- If his hands were as sensitive as he was acting, there could be something seriously wrong with them-- maybe some sort of a pinched nerve? She wonders if that's even physiologically possible for creating such a strong response to even simple stimuli.  
  
Pulling away to spit and wipe her mouth, she reaches up to actually touch Spock's face, wiping across his sweat-slicked brow with her thumb, "You'll be okay," She sooths, trying to get him to focus on her instead of whatever obvious, unfathomable pain he was clearly in.  
  
The sound of her voice is almost too much to bear. His head swims as he looks up at her, eyes dark and hooded. He can't tell her how this feels, he can't get his voice to behave, but when she lowers her mouth once more to his other hand, he loses his composure entirely. With another guttering shout of pleasure-pain, he cums there and then. His foot scrapes across the ground as he releases in his pants, just as she unsticks a particularly large piece of gravel from his opposite palm, spitting it out from between her teeth.   
  
The pain is agonizing, the pleasure mind-blowing, and with his eyes rolled back Spock promptly faints back against the rubble behind him, limp and slumped.  
  
A part of her was relieved. The pain Spock must have been in was intense, and now she can make quicker work of his hands. Patting him dry and licking, tongue and lips working around his hand, she slowly cleans him up until she physically doesn't think she has spit left in her mouth. Applying the gel and wrapping his hands in gauze from her first aid kit, Uhura leans away and wipes her mouth on her arm, wincing at the taste of cloth after so much salt and dirt and blood. She would have to look up Vulcan phsyiology later and hope Spock didn't hold it against her.  
  
They're rescued within a couple hours, time which Spock spends blessedly unconscious. He's taken away to receive medical attention, but at Uhura's request, she continues the training. 

It's days later, after getting back to school that she remembers to look up what she intended to. Terrified that she'd done some kind of irreperable damage to Spock by distracting him into the situation where he fell, she spent hours digging into old records, but could find nothing of significance. There's some kind of nebulous, unspoken sacredness to vulcan hands, but she can't for the life of her find out _why_.   
  
She's almost ready to give up when she finds a two-centuries old vulcan health textbook deep in the recesses of the archives. It isn't exactly up to date, but unless the vulcan species as a whole has gone through some kind of massive evolution in the last 200 years, the basic information is probably still accurate. She finds information about vulcan hands being capable of some kind of touch-telepathy, but it doesn't exactly go into detail on the subject. In fact, it seems to be intentionally vague.   
  
Gaila comes back then, barely closing the door behind her before she's stripping her uniform pants off. "Hey you," she calls. "What're you up to? You look like you wanna eat your computer."  
  
"Research. Its been less than useful," Uhura says glumly, leaning away from her computer and changing the tab to the search engine. She isn't sure if this is someting Gaila should know-- after the reaction Spock had, it seemed almost disrespectful to spread to other students how seriously he had been effected. Something about Vulcan hands was important, and it was important enough to keep out of centuries of historical documents.  
  
"Research about what?" Gaila asks, her shirt coming off next so she can change into more comfortable pajamas. "Anything I can help with?"  
  
"Vulcan culture," Uhura says. It's not exactly a lie, and it saves face for what had happened. "I can find a miraculous little on even their physiology, anywhere, in decades of catalogues." She still skirts around the topic without actually lying.  
  
"Still going after professor Spock?" Gaila grins, flopping down on her bed once she's comfortable, and she starts to braid her hair. "You know, I'm impressed. Most people give up way before now."  
  
"Going after," She huffs, "He's a professor of a class I happen to enjoy. We naturally have something in common." She protests, but gives Gaila an impish little look. "You don't happen to be a secret expert on Vulcan life, are you?"  
  
"Expert, no," she admits. "But last time I talked to my sister, she told me she fucked a vulcan! If you want tiiiips," she shimmies her shoulders, and then raises her hands and wiggles her fingers. "Ears and hands, it's all about the ears and hands."  
  
Uhura's heart practically skips at that, and she looks at her screen to steady herself, trying to not look absolutely and immediately riveted. "What, they like holding hands?" She asks, trying to sound actively lukewarm on the subject matter while still prying for information.  
  
Gaila laughs. "No! According to Sheila, they're wicked sensitive. Both boys and girls. She said the girl she hooked up with talked about how being a lesbian vulcan is kinda like having 10 little cocks-- cause it feels that good for them, too."  
  
Oh.  
  
**_Oh._**  
  
Oh, that's interesting, and Uhura can't beat back the sudden fuzzy cloud of heat pooling in her gut, smoke burning her chest. She's breathless with the implications of what that meant. If Vulcan hands served as such serious erogenous zones for their people, it'd make sense, all of it. Increased blood flow due to increased nerve endings, hypersensitivity to pain, responsive nerve endings for pleasure.   
  
Very responsive nerve endings for pleasure.  
  
"Surely not all the time?" She's surprised by how steady her own voice comes out, but she's not going to fight it-- "How would they get anything done?"  
  
"All the time," Gaila nods. "That's what Sheila's girl said, anyway. I guess part of their whole vulcan super serious logic and control thing is just to combat how it feels to touch stuff. Don't bring a hand buzzer to a vulcan party, pretty much. Not that vulcans throw parties..."  
  
"Maybe if I get frustrated enough I'll just shake the professor's hand and hope he's impressed with my superior powers of seduction," Uhura murmurs, and it was only partially a joke. He could have told her no, that night in the ravine. He could have pushed her away and told her to not overstimulate his fingers. He could have told her anything. But he didn't.   
  
It's a lot to think about.


	4. Chapter 4

The next time she's in his class, she notices he's very pointedly avoiding looking in her direction. He doesn't call on her if she raises her hand, and he doesn't stick around very long after class, either. He doesn't seem nervous by human standards, he's as calm and collected as ever, but she's pretty sure by now she knows what Spock is like most of the time-- and he seems nervous.   
  
He basically let her suck his dick in that cave, after all. Extensively. For several minutes.   
  
He knows he should have pushed her off. Retrospectively looking back on it makes him shake in the night when he tries to meditate, and even his deepest mantras can't push aside the memory of her tongue raking across his palm. He doesn't know if it's his age and lack of practice that makes him feel vulnerable to her, or if it's because he's half human, but either way he knows that when he glances at her, his whole body feels like it's on fire.  
  
He's avoiding her. If it was a paranoid thought the first day, the second day of his continued distance makes it a pattern. Spock is not the kind of man to break pattern, not without a very good reason-- And at this point, it's rather clear they both know what the reason is.   
  
It's hard not to feel the slightest bit validated at the avoidance. If she'd had a doubt about the reciprocation of feelings, this effectively silenced any feeling she might have had. Still, it was getting in the way of her studies, and that was where she drew a line. Spock's avoidance meant she couldn't take the course at her pace, as he had previously so eagerly encouraged her. There was no accelerated pacing when your professor wouldn't give you the time of day.   
  
That's the excuse she tells herself before class in the bathroom as she waits for the stalls to empty. It's for her studies, she argues, as she hitches up the hem of her skirt, rolling the waistband over itself and settling her uniform on top of it, skirt grazing just above her knees. She takes her seat the front of the class, legs crossed, the new hem of her skirt exposing the bare line of her thigh under her desk.  
  
Spock doesn't seem to notice. So she rolls her skirt another inch the next day, and he still doesn't look.   
  
She comes to class earlier just so she can roll her skirt higher in the bathroom and make it into the classroom to sit down before anyone has a chance to see how short her skirt is. Every day she rolls it just a bit higher, but he still avoids looking at her at every opportunity. With an extra inch rolled every day of the following week, by that friday if she were to stand abruptly from her desk, she would flash everyone behind her, and still he doesn't look.   
  
She has no choice but to resort to drastic measures. While he's at the front of the class lecturing them on klingon syntax, she subtly spreads her legs in her seat. Not enough for it to be obscene, her knees no farther apart than her hips. But with her skirt as short as it is, it gives the teacher a prominent view of her bright white underwear, standing out against her dark skin. The sudden flash of white does catch his eye and instinctive, he glances over.  
  
"The purpose of the extra syllable 'win is to--" he pauses for just a second. Such a short amount of time that nobody else would have noticed, but Uhura did. She saw his eyes drop just for a nanosecond to her legs before glancing away once more and continuing his lecture, with just a drop of green tint to his ears where there wasn't before.  
  
There's no small amount of pleasure derived in seeing that touch of green, and she doesn't bother trying to keep her face clear. He knew what happened between them, she knew, they both knew. That glance broke the tightly-held seal he'd had on looking at her. He practically evaporated out of the classroom after, and Uhura let him.   
  
To test the waters, she hitched her skirt high and bore another pair of crisp, white laced panties the delicate patterns muddy under the shadow of her desk, but enough to get the gist. The second day she sees Spock's adam's apple bob after he looks at her. It's probably wishful thinking, but she hopes it's due to her impression on him.  
  
The third day she gets their early. Earlier than even usual for her, earlier than the Professor, himself. She sets her bag down on her usual seat, hearing the telltale click of the door as it opens, then closes and locks behind him. She waits until he's set his bag at his desk before she makes herself known, boots clicking on the wood floor as she approaches the desk, "Its been a while since we've been able to speak," She says, her voice low and almost teasing. As if she didn't know why, "I've been learning Vulcan." Uhura continues conversationally, trailing her fingers across his desk before finding a spot to lean back against, skirt barely grazing her thighs, "I was hoping you could help me with some grammar."  
  
He falters in the doorway, and honestly considers turning and running. It wouldn't be very dignified, but then again, neither would the stress of pretending he isn't helplessly, hopelessly attracted to the girl currently wearing a skirt that should pass as a belt. Gods help him.   
  
"Very well," he says, crossing the room and setting his bag down over his chair. "How may I be of assistance, Cadet Uhura?"  
  
A bit formal, perhaps, especially since she's been trying so hard to get him to call her Nyota, but he refuses to be anything but.  
  
"Well, the other day I heard a phrase I was hoping you could help contextualize." She looks up at him, ponytail hanging heavily over one shoulder. Her smile is innocent as she repeats the phrase he'd grit out in the ravine-- _sweet mother of fuck-_\- and tilts her head, expression curious save for the knowing curl of her lips as she keeps her eyes locked firmly on his face. She can feel her heart beat in her throat, anticipation making her giddy.  
  
Spock holds her gaze for a long time, his hands flexing and unflexing. He'd had them tended to professionally after that moment in the cave between the two of them, and tried to put the incident behind him. But now she's here, throwing it in his face again. He can't lie, he can't, as much as he wants to.   
  
"It is an expletive," he says simply. "Every language has them."  
  
"Is it traditionally one used in a negative context?" She asks curiously, head tilted down at him. She knows the answer, she's sure of it. Every moment this conversation lasts longer is another moment of validation. He could have shut down this line of questioning a while ago. She's not being subtle. But he didn't. He wanted this, too-- She could feel it.  
  
"It can be," he answers, his whole body stiff as he scopes the exit, second guessing the merits of fleeing. "It depends on the context."  
  
Her hand reaches out as if she was going to touch his ear, the side of his face. But her fingers stop short, and she retracts her hand, fingertips perched on the desk -- But only her fingertips. Pushing herself upright, she shifts ever closer; From here she can feel the warmth of his body resonating onto her thigh, "What if it was said after direct stimulus to a Vulcan's fingers?"  
  
Oh god, she knows. Of course she knows, she's too smart not to figure it out. He'd hoped she would have mistaken it for pain, but she knows. His heartbeat pounds in his side.   
  
"Cadet, I really need to prepare for the lesson," he says, his voice sounding rougher than he'd hoped it would come out.  
  
"There's time before the lesson, professor," Uhura pushes urgently, fingers inching forward to graze across the knuckles of his hand, slotting herself between his legs. Her voice is soft, pressing. She can feel her heartbeat against her sternum, months of ridiculous anticipation finally building into something real.  
  
It would be so easy to give in to her. He finds himself wanting to, which probably isn't a good sign. He doesn't push her away as she leans in, and he feels the material of her skirt brush his groin as her nails skitter across his knuckles. Her breath smells like mint as it fans against his chin-- and then he hears the creak of the heavy solid door at the top of the lecture hall start to open.   
  
As if dematerializing out of thin air, he somehow manages to scoot from between her and the desk so efficiently that he might as well have evaporated, and he's walking around to the other side of the desk as a couple other students filter in. Saved by the bell indeed.  
  
Uhura pulls her skirt down as she walks from around the other side of his desk, cool-faced as usual as she gathers papers from his desk to make it look like she'd been seeking assistance on an assignment. Tucking them under her arm, she takes her place in the front of the class. Her skirt is longer now than it has been at weeks-- It might have been a comfort if her fingers hadn't plainly hitched up the hem of her skirt.   
  
She can't take her eyes off of him, her entire body nearly vibrating just to get at him. But she can't, so she has to keep herself occupied-- her method of choice is the bite of her nails as she tugs them across the smooth, soft skin of her inner thigh, an action Spock is very much privy to.  
  
He glances at her three times during the lesson (three!) and all three times, he looks like he's about to catch fire and desintegrate right there on the stage. He tries avoiding looking at her for the rest of the class period, and it takes all his willpower to keep his voice even and his heart beat lowered. Focusing on the lesson material helps, but every time he looks over at her, she's touching her own leg and it makes his brain short circuit for a second before he gets back on track. he's a vulcan, damn it, he isn't wiled by women... no matter how shapely their legs.   
  
When the class period is over, he sacrifices the few students who were hoping to get a word with him after class by tearing ass out of the lecture hall like his pants were on fire. He has to put some distance between himself and Uhura, to meditate and regain his composure. Lest he do something he regret.  
  
Students slink out disappointedly when Spock packs up so quickly, so it doesn't take long for Uhura to weave through them to follow after the man. He can't avoid her forever, the anticipation alone was enough to drive her insane, if she had to sit and pretend to be a student for one more day, knowing what she did now..   
  
Well, her uncle had always said she had a one-track mind.  
  
She's quick to catch up to him in a back hallway, and when she does, she crowds into his space immediately, a hand on his chest pushing him back and pinning him to a wall, eyes sharp on his face, hip slotted against his, "Tell me you don't feel the same, and I'll stop," Uhura promises, her voice low as she looks up at him, the shadow of the hall partially obscuring them.  
  
Spock's jaw flexes as he chews his teeth. His heart is hammering in his side, his stomach twisting. This is unvulcan, he should leave, he should push her off right now. But her eyes are beautiful and wide, and her bowed lips part in that way they do as she searches his face, and he feels weak.   
  
"A vulcan cannot lie," he says, and his voice sounds wounded as he does.  
  
"Then don't," She murmurs.   
  
Her fingers reach forward to take Spock's hand with hers, though her hold on it was careful now, her touch gentle and fleeting as she settles his massive palm on her hip. She raises onto her tip-toes, an action that dips Spock's hand lower onto the curve of her ass as she raises herself to almost-not-really his height.  
  
Just like before the lesson, he finds himself on the verge of giving in. His vulcan and human sides are warring, and for just a moment, the human is winning. Then he hears foot steps coming down the hall, and he panics. To be caught with his own student, bodies flush in the hall? He'd never live it down, even if he wasn't a vulcan. He realizes his back is to a broom closet door, and so with a push of a button on the panel beside him, it slides open and they both tumble in, just in time to avoid being seen by the person coming around the corner, their heels clicking down the hall, their silhouette passing in the frosted glass door. He's reminded then how bad of an idea this is, and his vulcan side manages to stand up and force him to take notice again.  
  
The change in venue makes Uhura's heart pound, but the privacy makes her titter with anticipation as she turns to Spock and smiles, "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you lured me to a broom closet for a reason," She says teasingly. The ghost of her fingertips flits over his chest, urging him closer as she tries to slot them together as they had been, before.  
  
"Wait," he grips her by the upper arms, holding her back. He could shatter her bones with just a squeeze, and yet he holds her so delicately, out at arm's reach. "This is highly inappropriate, Cadet Uhura. I cannot pursue anything with you, I am your teacher."  
  
Uhura looks almost offended at being told to stop now, but she does immediately, eyebrows furrowing as she looks over at him, "And? I earn my grade fairly, I think my work speaks for itself," She leans back, wishing the simple hold he had on her arms wasn't enough to make her as stupid as it had.  
  
"That does not matter," Spock says. "You will be accused of foul play regardless of your work, and I could lose my position. It is not appropriate. If you were not my student... perhaps. I cannot lie and say I am not fascinated by you, cadet. And I deeply apologize for taking advantage of you in the cave, I should have..." he shakes his head. "My injuries were no excuse for..." he can't even bring himself to say it. "It was a moment of weakness that I cannot afford to repeat, for both our sake."  
  
"You didn't _take advantage_ of me," She says seriously, frown slowly working its way firmer onto her face-- An unfortunate contrast to the hungry hopeful she'd been just moments ago. "I've felt this from the beginning, and you've felt it for at least a few weeks, if not earlier," Uhura chastises, shaking her head, "You're well respected as a professor, and all my teachers could say the same for my work ethic. Why would they suddenly doubt us?" She wants to raise up on her toes again, her arms straining against Spock's hands holding her in place, "Who would even have to know?"  
  
"Vulcans do not engage in secret romances," Spock says, his thumbs unconsciously rubbing her bare arms. "If you were mine, it would be known."  
  
"Then let it be known," Her voice breaks in what is practically a plea as she pushes into his hands, leaning forward in an attempt to kiss him, overwhelmed with their closeness and the impatience of youth.  
  
He wants to let her in, he wants to desperately. He thinks of bringing up T'Pring, but even that feels too cruel, especially since he has never truly intended to marry the poor girl. No, he can't blame this on anyone else, no matter how much easier it would be. He has to take responsibility for this.   
  
"I cannot," he shakes his head, holding her back. "This cannot happen. Not while I am your teacher."  
  
"We both know I practically teach myself anyway," She growls in frustration, even a twinge bit heartbroken as she frowns at him, "And what at the end of the semester when you're not my teacher anymore? Shall we go back to pretending like we barely know one another?"  
  
She brings up a fair point, and his brow furrows. Shaking his head, he sounds breathless as he says, "I do not know. To put it in familiar parlance, I suppose we will cross that bridge when we come to it."  
  
"Or we cross it now," Uhura's hips arch, and she manages one languid grind against him, flourishing with a roll.  
  
Oh, heaven help him and how weak he is for her. He swallows hard. "If you would prefer to accelerate the conversation, then I will put in the paperwork to transfer you to professor Prasinsky's language class for the remainder of the semester. That is the only acceptable alternative. I cannot and will not engage with you on any level while I am your teacher."  
  
And like that, the wind seems to deflate from her sails, just a twinge, eyebrows pulling together as she looks up at him, "You're one of the most noted linguist professors teaching at the academy," She says, "Professor Prasinky's class spends the entire semester on syntax."  
  
"Then as there are no alternatives, we will wait," Spock says. He could let go of her now, should let go of her, but he's still holding her by the arms. "We will have this conversation at the end of the semester, in six weeks."  
  
Her gaze up at him is hard, her jaw clenching, but she just nods. She can feel his thumb against her arm, pad dragging against the delicate skin of her bicep, making no move to separate despite his words to the contrary, "Six weeks," She agrees, and also doesn't make any motion to untangle herself from him.  
  
"Six weeks," he repeats again, and then reluctantly releases her arms, and moves past her to dart out of the broom closet. God help him he really needs that meditation now.  
  
Their tryst couldn't continue, not like it was. They were a distraction to one another, a dangerous flirtation that had put both of their careers in danger, and for what? After Spock's talk with her, Uhura seems to get the message right away. Overnight the flirtations cease. She sits in the front row still, but her skirt is an appropriate length, underwear nowhere to be seen. She looks at him as he speaks, but it's with he bland, blase manners of a polite student.   
  
If they hadn't lived the tirade of their emotions together just a day before, it would be hard to believe she'd ever had a romantic thought to the Professor. For once, Uhura packs her bags and leaves before Spock, letting him deal with his usual throng of curious students, alone.   
  
For all intents and purposes, she was to consider their relationship over. Spock had made it abundantly clear that until she completed his full course work, they couldn't even entertain the temptation of a relationship. Fine.   
  
Uhura would just have to finish his full course work.  
  
Ultimately, she phones it in for two weeks. She's a model student, her homework turned in, participation in groups and class sufficient-- Although no longer is it exemplary. She'll occasionally raise her hand to participate and her answers are always succinct and correct-- but it's the third monday into their 'six weeks' plan, and Uhura is nowhere to be seen. Her desk up front is entirely empty, and somehow the entire class as a whole feels emptier for it.  
  
Spock thinks for sure that she's given up, and he thanks his vulcan genes and training for dampening his emotions. It wouldn't have worked anyway, he tells himself logically. She's a human, it would have been an incompatible match. Even his father, who married a human woman, did so for logic rather than love, as he told him himself. Even his grandfather and great grandfather who both married human women, did so because they were the ambassadors to earth. It was logical. By joining Starfleet, he disengaged from the direct line of ambassadorial work, and with his father still at a young 95, there would likely be more siblings to come to take over the line of succession. He had no need to pursue a human woman and ignore the match made for him by his father.   
  
But then he checks his email after class, and finds Uhura's mailed-in paper. Her final paper, in fact, and a request to be seen early for the final exam. He checks her work, and indeed she has finished the entire course, four weeks ahead of schedule. His heart hitches in his side. Had she done this just to finish early and accelerate the timeline for their conversation? For him?  
  
They set a date after some snappy debate about the sincerity of the request, and eventually agree upon a time from 6pm until 8pm, when the building would be empty except for maybe the remnants of the cleaning crew. Spock is already inside the lecture hall when Uhura arrives, at 5:55 pm on the dot.  
  
She enters carrying a small stack of papers under her arm as she winds through the lecture hall. Stopping at Spock's desk, she sets the papers down-- "Hard copies of my papers. I also found every practice exam and chapter test you've given over the past two years and took those as I went to prove thorough and complete knowledge of the source material," She says, nodding expectantly, "I've already graded myself, but you're welcome to check my work while I take the exam. I finished last year's final with a 94%, so I hope to make it a 97% this year." She says it all without giving Spock a chance to reply before she turns on her heel and sits at her desk, still the picture of student professionalism as she sets three pencils on her desk, ready for the exam.  
  
He hands it over to her and sits at his desk in order to read her work as she does, the sound of pencil scratching like music to him. It's comforting, hearing only the sound of her breathing, her writing, and the clock ticking. It's getting slowly dark outside, with late autumn making the days shorter, the massive windows at his back going steadily blacker as he waits for her to finish.   
  
It isn't a slog, waiting. Reading her work is always a delight, and her thesis essay about the shift in language of the krogans being attributed to the breaking of their social structure into clans following the genophage was as brilliant as published works he's come across in the past. He'd like to publish it, in fact, if she would let him, after her grade is complete.  
  
She finishes within the timeline, but then spends in extraordinary amount of time checking and triple checking her work. Some professors allowed Cadets to use a page of notes-- Uhura would never find out what camp Spock was on as she didn't use a single speck of notes, just to be safe. Her pencil slowly ticks, one breaking and immediately being replaced due to her preparation. Just shy of eight, she stands and delivers her paper to Spock's desk, setting it on top of the paper he was in the middle of reading, her hands behind her back.   
  
"I'll sit down while you grade it. I have time," And with that she turns on her heel to take her seat again, sitting perfectly still and serene, the picture of ease despite the feat she had just managed to accomplish.  
  
He has to try not to smile, and it's hard. He leafs through her work, making her wait this time as he reads the entire thing cover to cover twice, before finally taking a pen to the front page and writing a curling 100 that he circles twice, before standing up from his desk and crossing over to stand by hers, for once. He hands it off to her, smiling with his eyes.   
  
"Excellent work, Cadet Uhura," he says. "I do not believe I have ever had a student work so hard to complete my class ahead of schedule before. I would almost think that you were bored of my lectures."  
  
Uhura looks down at the paper with no small note of pride in her gaze, and she sets it down on the desk, looking up at him with a barely-contained look of pride. It's definitely there, the pride, but she at least doesn't look too smug about it. "Quite the opposite, Professor," She says professionally, although there's a giddy knot of adrenaline making her head buzz and her throat twist with knots, "I enjoyed your lectures so much I was informed I needed to pass your class before being allowed a more thorough education. A cruelty of ambition, I'm afraid," It's hard to keep her face steady, her chest swelling more with every passing moment.   
  
She hides her excitement by packing her bag, tucking her graded exam in with her pencils, her folders. When she stands she's entirely too close to Spock, an action she makes absolutely no move to correct, "It is a shame to lose you as a teacher, Professor Spock," She says, her voice quiet, her eyes on his and unwavering.  
  
"I am flattered you think so," Spock says, clasping his hands behind his back. "However, I have the feeling it will not be the last I will see of you. Am I correct in this assumption?"  
  
"Would you like to be?" She replies whip-fast. There's the smug little twist of her smile, her bag suddenly entirely too heavy on her shoulder.  
  
"I would not suffer if I was," he says, his eyes darting for just a moment to her lips when they quirk up just so. Standing this close to her, his brow furrows as a familiar scent wafts up to him. "Are you wearing perfume of the argalia desert blossom? I did not know that was attainable this far from vulcan." He might have just admitted to smelling her. Then again she's standing so close she could climb inside his shirt.  
  
Uhura cranes her neck up at him, looking at him through her lashes at the arbitrary question, "Do you usually take to commenting on the scents of your students, professor?" She asks petulantly, as if she didn't know what she was damn well doing when she chose this scent and to stand this close for this long.  
  
"Not usually," he says, a smile gleaming in his dark eyes. "But my students do not usually take it upon themselves to fragrance themselves with the perfume of my people's national flower. The blossoms also make a particularly mild, delicate tea, known for its natural sweetness. There is a tea shop a short walk from campus which boasts tea from all over the galaxy. Perhaps you would join me for a cup?"  
  
Uhura's smile is not really contained at all, honestly. Her eyes crinkle, and she has to actively bite her lower lip to prevent the large grin that threatens her steely visage more and more with every passing minute. Looking at Spock for a long moment, she nods, "That sounds like a very nice way to end the evening, thank you, Professor," She nods, and take the initiative to step around him and break their closeness-- He'll find her hair scented much the same as the rest of her, ponytail dragging under his nose.  
  
They walk there together rather than bother with a shuttle, since the walk is only fifteen minutes or so, time that they spend chatting about her final work and most importantly that thesis paper she'd written on the Krogan language, and the merits of publishing in. It's technically talking shop, but they walk close enough side by side that it feels intimate as they enter the tea shop together.   
  
With a couple cups of tea in hand, they find a table near the back of the shop, in a nice shadowed little alcove, sitting at a bay window that overlooks a lower tier of the city, twinkling with the lights of night time. Spock holds his tea, the warmth through the cups comforting on his hands. He knows she's waiting for him to speak, and he is grateful for her patience as he takes the time to collect himself first.   
  
"You are interested in pursuing a relationship with me, is that correct?" he finally asks.  
  
Uhura blows gently on her tea, enjoying the cloying aroma as smoke wafts to the ceiling in heavy, thick clouds. It was a warm, earthy tea-- The perfect sort to calm you after a long day. Her eyes slip up to him at the question, and she gives him a look for a very long moment, as if trying to decide if he was serious or not.   
  
"Whatever gave you that idea?" She asks coyly, lips quirking into a small smile as she takes a slow, delicate sip of tea.  
  
Spock's brow furrows. He seems to miss the playfulness of that one.   
  
"You have exhibited the human signs of courtship on multiple occasions," he says, giving a catlike head tilt. "As well as your making your physical interest known. Have I mistaken your intentions?"  
  
Yeah, she should have figured he would take it literally-- but she couldn't help herself.  
  
Smiling despite herself, she shakes her head, "You haven't. It was sarcasm," She explains without judgement or scorn. Raising the cup to her lips again, she takes another slow sip, "I am incredibly interested in pursuing a relationship with you."  
  
"I see," he clears his throat. Even after all these years of study, human sarcasm still sometimes eludes him. "Have you dated before?"  
  
"I'm familiar with the concept, yes," She replies, sounding bemused as she looks over at him, "Have you?"  
  
"No. I have not," he shakes his head. "Vulcans do not date in the same way that humans do, and certainly not the higher social echelons such as myself. We are given assigned partners at birth, arrangements made between households meant to encourage political ease or a combining of knowledge between houses. I have had what you might call a fiance since birth... however she and I have never gotten along. She does not approve of my half-human heritage, and I have made no efforts to persuade her otherwise."  
  
A look of surprise crosses her face, and Uhura sits upright, coy relaxation tightening into serious attention. Had she misread the situation? This entire time, she thought he was bound by a moral code of ethics, not preexisting relationships. Here she thought this had been a date-- Why had he made it seem like a date? "I see," She says, her voice coolly even, "So what would that mean?"  
  
Spock is silent for a moment as he looks into his cup. "I have never intended to bond with her," he says, tracing the rim with his thumb. "My affection for my human side, some would say, is a weakness. However in living on Earth for some time among your kind, and my closeness with my mother, have lead me to the decision that I will not engage in kolinhar-- an ancient vulcan practice which can be used to purge all emotion permanently. Not unlike the primitive human lobotomy in some ways, though much less invasive."  
  
He takes a sip of his tea and glances out the window. "I do not want you to feel as though you are being used as an excuse to avoid my arrangement. Vulcans do not make such petty decisions. T'Pring and I were never a good match, and I believe she would have done anything in her power to avoid the bonding even if I had chosen to pursue it seriously. It will be... unorthodox, for us to reject the matching, but not completely unheard of. My father already disapproves of me, I can see little other damage I could possibly do."  
  
"Why had you not rejected the match before, if you had no intention on bonding with her and it holds so little consequence to your life?" She asks, her voice quiet. She was happy for the private nook before, but she was happier even now that they were speaking so frankly about such serious matters. Uhura already knew what it would mean for her academic career to actively pursue a relationship with her once-professor, she didn't want that water muddied by an abandoned bride, too.  
  
Spock watches the twinkling lights through the window for a time as he thinks that question over. "I suppose I was simply delaying the inevitable," he says, taking another sip of his tea. "It was not a very logical decision, now that I scrutinize it. It would have been better if I formally rejected it years ago, rather than let it continue in farce all these years. She will be relieved when I inform her of my rejection, but my relationship with my father will only grow more distant. He does not approve of my... decisions. He would not approve of you."  
  
"Because I'm human?" She asks, eyebrows twitching together with a frustrated frown. She settles her fingers back on the wall of her mug, allowing the warmth of the ceramic warm her fingertips. It's a distraction, but not an unwelcome one. After a brief pause, she settles her shoulders back with a serious frown over at Spock, "There seems to be a lot of reasons we shouldn't pursue this," She says, her voice carefully even to keep a hold on sounding too disappointed, "Is this something you wish to do, Spock?"  
  
Spock considers this again, glancing from the window, down to his cup, and back up to the window. "Against all possible logic and reason... I find that I do," he says evenly. "But you should know, courting a vulcan is different from courting a human. We do not engage in public displays of affection, and we do not enter relationships casually. If you want to pursue this, I will wholly commit myself, no matter what happens, no matter the hardship, until such a time that you decide you wish to terminate it. Vulcans do not... break up."  
  
She feels that well of warmth flood into her stomach and chest again, his words making her lips twitch into that barely covered smile for what feels like the tenth time that day. She looks down into her tea, taking another sip before it grows too cold, wanting to enjoy the giddy schoolgirl feeling while she had it, "That's good to hear," She says, her voice miraculously serious as she nods over at Spock, "I have no intention of breaking up, either."  
  
He feels his ears tint dark with a flush, and he looks back down at his reflection in his tea. "You may be happier pursuing a human," he suggests, like he's trying to warn her off of him. "Someone with which you may engage in public displays of affection, who will be capable of joking around with you casually, who is familiar in your customs of courtship. I will research, but I will not inherently possess the knowledge of precisely which actions I am expected to take. I will, as you say, screw up. Often. It may be kinder to you in the long run to reject this relationship."  
  
"I don't care about that," And it surprises even her with the seriousness with which she says it, the stony resolve of her sentiment. "You're sweet, and intelligent, and you challenge me. You don't play games and you respect my accomplishments without becoming threatened by them. Your accomplishments speak for themselves, and I like you," Uhura looks up at him with a set, determined look on her face, "All of that matters more to me than superficial relationship markers determined by arbitrary human standards."  
  
He looks at her for a long moment, searching her face, before he finally says, "For a moment, you sounded vulcan," and it sounds like the highest possible compliment he could have given her. He takes another sip of her tea. "I believe it is customary to know more about one another before pursuing a relationship, to ensure that the matching is compatible in all aspects. It would be wise to make sure our views on matters such as career, marriage and children are in line, to avoid future unrest over the subjects. Human relationships have been known to break down over time due to a squeamishness over discussing the subjects early in a relationship."  
  
"Fine," Uhura agrees, setting her mug on her plate and nodding, "I'm an open book, ask."  
  
Spock quirks a brow. "I believe I just did."  
  
She quirks one back, looking at him with a little squint as she just dives in-- "I believe the Klingon threat is one that cannot continue to go ignored, and I don't think violence will solve it. I would like to base a primary focus on helping broker peace between their species and ours. Marriage and children are fine, but I'm young, and I have a lot I wish to accomplish before I even consider having children. If marriage happens before that," She shrugs, "But I'm in no rush to settle down, and any partner I'm with will have to understand that my career with Starfleet is my focus."  
  
Spock listens to her with a neutral expression, but when she finishes speaking, he finds he has to duck his head, he's so overcome with the urge to smile. It's almost embarrassing, the flutter it puts in his chest.   
  
"I understand," he says with a nod, regaining his composure and lifting his head. "I am also interested in my continued tenure with Starfleet, and hope to one day board a starship. Perhaps we could request posting to the same ship when the time comes."  
  
"I would like that very much," She says, allowing just the slightest start of a smile to peek at the corner of her own mouth. She can see the light in his eyes, the crinkle at the corners that she'd grown to look for when they spoke. It was true, their time together had been brief in the span of things, but she was a quick study, and she'd been studying Spock's face plenty. "It would be nice to be stationed together."  
  
"I believe that when construction of the Flagship is finished, Captain Pike will request my station aboard the Enterprise," he says, trying to keep the inflection of pride and excitement out of his voice and failing. "He has implied more than once that he is considering me for the position of First Officer. Should this come to pass, if I am given permanent commission aboard the federation flagship, I believe I would have the power to pull a few strings, as the saying goes."  
  
Eyebrows raising with surprise, she looks surprised at the news. First Officer of a vessel like the Enterprise was no joke, and it was an honor to be even put in the running at all-- Spock knew that, she could tell, the small beam of pride evident in just the way he spoke and kept his head carefully held aside, as if trying to remain humble, "If you need recommendations, I could get at least one glowing one," She says with a gentle, teasing little smile.  
  
"As for marriage and children, I am interested in both," he says, almost hurried as he gets through it. "Though I am... woefully inexperienced in the subjects of romance and..." he clears his throat. "Physical romance."  
  
"I might have oversold my experience with romance," Uhura admits after a beat, clearing her own throat as an odd silence settles between them, "And I'm sure your experience with... physical romance... is just as adequate. Men who say they know what they're doing typically know least of all."  
  
"I assure you, it is far less than adequate," Spock says, lowering his voice, and unable to make eye contact. "My experience is limited exclusively to... the encounter we shared in the cave, after my fall."  
  
Uhura sits fully upright then, surprise warming her face to a surprisingly deep shade of burgundy, "I'll admit," She says, with a surprisingly even voice, although her face was anything but, "I thought you... That might be the case. Not at the time, of course," She adds quickly.  
  
His face matches hers in brightness, his skin a brilliant green to contrast her ruddy red, and he clears his throat. "I was not even familiar with..." he can't bring himself to say it in plain terms. "Solo romance... before that moment. I find myself intrigued by it since, but have not convinced myself to partake."  
  
"No?" She asks, sounding surprised. Her voice is quiet, as if the other few couples dotting the tea hall were even sort of paying attention to the shy-looking couple in the corner, "Is there something stopping you from--" She stops herself, shaking her head, "You don't have to tell me," Uhura amends, looking down at the table, having flustered herself, "I'm sorry if your first time wasn't what you had anticipated."  
  
"There is nothing stopping me physically, only societal expectation," Spock says, looking down at his tea. "In vulcan society, we are expected to repress all sexual desire outside of the mating time. Sexual relationships encourage passion, which encourages desire, self-centeredness, and ultimately destruction. I have been raised with these beliefs all my life, but I have never found myself quite as... tested, as I have with you. I find that I am not strong enough to resist you."  
  
Uhura looks up at him through her lashes, tongue dragging over her lower lip as she keeps a close, careful eye on his expression. She can hear the slight note of strain in his voice, although she has no idea whether it's from embarrassment or shame, maybe even desire, "Well, I passed your class with your unbiased scrutiny. An argument could be made that I'm no longer your student, which I think was your sole prerequisite against our exploration of a... physical relationship." She says, trying to sound as neutral as possible with mixed results.  
  
He glances up at her, and feels his heartrate gallop in his side, thudding against his ribs. "It was," he nods.   
  
"I'll have to find something else to occupy my afternoons," Uhura admits, her voice light and conversational as she leans over the table, wanting to keep their words between themselves, "I'll have to find something that requires the full length of my skirt. It will take a while to get back in the habit of wearing it an appropriate length," She says cheekily, hoping for a reaction after all the effort she'd gone through.  
  
Spock actually lets out a soft huff of laughter, his ears burning darker as he looks down at the table. "I hope you will make an effort to relearn the habit. Vulcans are known to be jealous lovers."  
  
"Surely we'd have to become lovers first, in such a case," Uhura says, finding herself very clever before the implications of her words make her go quiet and embarrassed. A flush burning her cheeks and face, she clears her throat and smooths her napkin over her lap, "I'm sure it'll come to be quickly. I generally prefer more modesty in my fashion choices."  
  
"According to vulcan tradition, we already are," Spock admits. "After what happened in the cave... it qualifies. Penetrative intercourse is not necessarily the beginning of a sexual relationship, with vulcans."  
  
"A bit one-sided to call us both lovers, don't you think?" She asks skeptically, tilting her head over at the older man, "And you lost consciousness afterward from blood loss, I think. Not exactly a stunning story."  
  
He can't help but smile after that, ducking his head down to hide it as his lips spread in a grin. "I have heard is not entirely uncommon for humanoids to lose consciousness following an encounter of that... magnitude."  
  
"Magnitude?" Uhura says slyly, sitting upright and leaning over the table. Her hand reaches out to touch his, fingers grazing across his knuckles very fleetingly, careful not to stimulate him too much, "I had no idea your hands were so sensitive or I would have taken it easier on you."  
  
He swallows hard, feeling a pulse immediately shoot up his arm and into his stomach, and he tightens that hand into a fist. "I was... aware on a cursory level of the sensitivity of my hands, but the practical application of the knowledge turned out to be more... challenging than anticipated."  
  
"What is the extent of its sensitivity?" She asks curiously, eyes on the hand now clenched into a fist. Her fingers twitch out again to drag her nails lightly across the skin of his fingers, is knuckles, as if trying to coax his fingers into a state of ease again, entranced by them, "How does it not get.. Distracting?"  
  
"Through practice and meditation," he says, his fist tightening and his breath hitching just slightly. "Ordinary touches such as holding a book or a stylus or a warm mug can be ignored and filtered out with time. However, skin to skin contact..." he trails off, and then pulls his hand back away from her, overwhelmed by the sensation. "You may not be aware of this, Nyota, but vulcans are touch telepaths. If you touch my skin with yours, I can... feel your feelings and read your surface thoughts. It is involuntary."  
  
Uhura nods, looking up at him earnestly before pulling her hand away, keeping on her side of the table out of manners alone, "Did you get anything just then?" She asks, nodding to his withdrawn hand, still keeping her distance, "I'd like to see how that works sometime. Perhaps when you're less..." She looks at the set of his shoulders, the tight hold he has on his own hands, "...Distracted."  
  
"I did," he nods, unable to meet her eye. "I felt your excitement, affection, your desire for intimacy, and a sense of... lust."  
  
Oh, he worked fast. In the face of such an earnest reading of her emotions, it was Uhura's turn to look embarrassed, "You're a quick read, apparently," She admits, sounding a bit humbled.  
  
"Vulcans are not known for... hurrying into the sexual stage of relationships," he says, taking a sip of his tea to wet his suddenly dry mouth. "Sexual intercourse outside of the mating period is... not expressly forbidden, but highly frowned upon. That being said..." he glances up at her and licks his lips unconsciously. "Perhaps an exception could be made..."  
  
Uhura feels her pulse quicken in her throat, practically able to feel her heartbeat as it races in her chest. Her eyes find his again, expression serious and warm, her fingers twitching with a barely-restrained urge to touch. She had to remain as nonpressure as possible, the last thing she wanted to do was make him worry about his performance, "We can go at a pace you're comfortable with. I'm not going anywhere."   
  
"If you would have me... Nyota," he says, very carefully implementing her first name. "I would be interested in pursuing you romantically. Humans call it... boyfriend and girlfriend, correct?"  
  
The tentative way he says her name has her entire body spiking with adrenaline, nearly making her leg kick out in surprise as it settles into a rolling bubble in her belly. Finally, she doesn't bother trying to stifle her smile, she just smiles, nodding, "I would like that, too," She says, trying not to sound too pathetically giddy.  
  
Spock nods. "Then we are in accord," he says. "I will immediately begin referring to you as such, both privately and in conversation with others. You may do the same. With your permission, I will write to both my father as well as T'Pring to inform them of my decision."  
  
"Of course you have it," She says, her mind swimming with how fast it was moving. Not that she minded, her cheeks nearly hurt from how hard they were working to keep her smile contained. The table felt suddenly too large, indeed, but she manages to distract herself from the excitement boiling in her stomach by tapping on her mug-- "Will you get in trouble with the Academy?"  
  
"If you were still my student, yes," Spock says. "But as you officially graduated both my classes an hour ago, I believe at worst I would be given a slap on the wrist. Figuratively speaking, of course. Were I human, perhaps my punishment would be more severe, but in some cases, human beliefs about vulcans are beneficial to us. The academic board will be aware by my very nature that this is not something I choose to engage with frivolously, and the seriousness of the matter will lighten their hand."  
  
Something about the solemnity with which he pursues her makes her stomach throb as she reaches across the table to take his hand again.   
  
"In that case, I'm yours."


	5. Chapter 5

It isn't that Spock is _incapable_ of breaking schedule, he just will go out of his way to do whatever he can to avoid doing so. He'd already made up his mind to return Nyota's copy of Pride and Prejudice to her today, an earth classic that he'd previously never managed to get ahold of a copy of (he has always preferred hardcover paper novels to their digital counterparts, an old sentimentality from his childhood he'd never broken) but when he asked her to meet him on his way to an academic board meeting in an hour and a half, she'd informed him that it's laundry day, and she had no clean clothes to meet him. He'd suggested he could drop by her room to return it, and she agreed.   
  
However, as soon as her door opens to accept him, he finds himself struck dumb in the doorway as she stands there, in full view of the hallway (blessedly empty, save for him) in nothing but a matching set of undies. The greeting he was preparing falls short in his throat as his mouth goes dry, and though he knows he should look her in the eye, his chin drops and he finds himself staring blatantly at the long, ropey lines of her body, cupped just so by ruby red lace, and the divet of her navel makes him downright stupid.   
  
"Nyota," his voice cracks as his eyes snap back up to hers, clutching her belonging to his chest. "Book."  
  
"I told you it was laundry day," Uhura says, her voice low as she plucks the book from his loose-gripped hand without so little effort, it's as if the book was held by nothing at all. She makes no effort to cover herself, no effort to hide-- There was a campus game of some sort happening, and that was where the majority of the Cadets were. But not her. She was doing laundry.  
  
"Have somewhere to be?" She asks curiously, flicking her thumb through the pages of her book as she glances inside her dorm,, then back at him, "My laundry won't be done for another 57 minutes, and I wouldn't mind the company," Her invitation is clear, hip jutting forward to hold the door open as she steps back to invite him in, eyes never once leaving his face.  
  
"I have a... meeting," he says, even as he steps forward, and the door slides shut behind him. "In roughly 68 minutes. It is a four minute walk from this location... 5 if I take my time. I intended to obtain a cup of tea for the meeting, accounting for another two minutes, by my estimation. Leaving me with 61 minutes unaccounted for."  
  
"Gaila is with the others on campus," Uhura explains as she walks deeper into their dorm, showing Spock their small shared space, their beds separated from the space by a fogged piece of glass. Eyes raking hotly across Spock's body from top to bottom, her eyes catch on his, locked in place by the heat she can see, plain as day in his gaze-- "You can sit on the couch," She offers, although her voice is quiet, clearly distracted thinking about something else entirely as she adds, "Or I could how you my bed."  
  
Spock swallows hard enough that his ears bob. "I can see your bed from where I am standing," he says, sounding dumber by the second. Spock finds himself farther removed from logic with every throb of his heart.  
  
"You're right," She admits, and leans forward to finally take his hand in hers. It's a light hold, two of her fingers curling around his palm, barely touching him anymore than she has to as she pulls him behind the small, frosted room divider. Her bed is just behind it, so it isn't a very far walk, and when she turns with Spock's hand in hers it pulls them closer together. She can almost feel then tension radiating off of him, "Can I kiss you?" She asks, voice quiet.  
  
He moves where she bids him without hesitation or resistance. A dark flush spreads across his ears and cheeks and he swallows hard, instinctively licking his lips to wet them.  
  
"I have never kissed in the human manner," he says softly. "But if you will forgive my inexperience... yes. Please."  
  
"It's alright, follow my lead," Uhura sooths comfortingly, letting go of his hand-- one kind of touch at a time. Fingers find Spock's face then, the tips of her fingers pulling his face down as her toes lift her the inches between them. They meet somewhere in the middle, Uhura's lips pressing sweetly to Spock's without pressure or urgency or demand, practically chaste, not wanting to scare him off.  
  
The moment her fingertips touch his chin, he's flooded with stimuli from her mind. Her excitement, her eagerness to teach him, her _hunger_ for him and her desperation are all transferred to him instantly. His hands hang dumbly at his sides as her lips press into his in the most unique sensation he's ever experienced. There's nothing he could possibly compare to the sensation of her soft mouth lining up with his, the way their lips interlock like they were meant to fit together. Why vulcans have sworn off mouth kissing is beyond him. Hygiene? Dental care has improved greatly in the last centuries. Shame? It must be, for his entire body flushes with reaction to that simple feeling.   
  
When she drops back down onto her heels, she finds that his eyes have blown out wide, his irises swelling to fill nearly his full eye, like a cat's. He's breathing slightly heavily, those black eyes darting over her face, from her eyes, down to her lips and back up as he struggles to make sense of everything vibrating through his skull.   
  
"I like kissing," he announces breathlessly.  
  
"Yeah?" She asks, just as quietly, her voice weak as she looks at him. Her face is flushed, but with a different kind of blush-- This one mottley, as if she'd just run a marathon, as if the one kiss was the equivalent to a hard run. Her fingers slip away from his chin once they separate, but she can't help but stay close.   
  
There's too much energy filling her, exhilarating but dangerous, and her fingers slip down the front of his chest, fingers dipping across the sturdy stitching, tempting and pulling at the buttons, the closures. She wants to see more of him, to touch more off him-- but manners stops her. Concern stops her. So instead she trails her fingers across the brocade along his shoulders, happy for something to distract her as she looks up at him again, incredibly earnest-- "Would you like to keep going?"  
  
He's wearing his uniform, as always. The heavy wool coat cuts a very dashing figure on his wide shoulders and trim waist, but it also hides every curve and line of his body that makes him him. The coat is heavily structured, with thick darts that shape the dense fabric one way or another, giving very little indication to what he looks like underneath it other than his basic shape.   
  
Logically, he should probably postpone, though with as much time as he has, the only 'logical' argument he has in favor of declining is his vulcan upbringing tells him he's supposed to, to be properly Vulcan. But her hands brush and fiddle over his chest, and he finds logic failing him. And so he gives a hasty "Yes," as he pops the clip at his collar, followed by a deft pulling of the rest of the snap fastenings like yanking the ripcord off a raft, and he shrugs the grey wool coat off, tossing it onto her bed. He's wearing a similarly structured plain black long sleeve shirt beneath, tucked smartly into his belted trousers, but Uhura barely has a chance to take a look at him like this before he's suddenly crowding into her.   
  
His hands cup her face and her back hits the frosted glass divider as he looms over her and fits their mouths together again. She still smells like that flower back home, and she makes a soft noise that he'll remember until he dies.  
  
It feels like a dam bursting. His hands cup her face and his body slots her in place, and Uhura can only submit to his pace, happy to take what he has to give and teach as she goes. Spock is eager to learn, and she's up to keep pace, even if each hungry press of his lips to hers draws the softest sigh of pleasure from her, unbidden and reluctant every step of the way-- though her mouth against his was anything but.   
  
Spock learns quickly, but Uhura still has experience on her side, and she leans forward into his kiss, her teeth grazing his lip as she allows herself to properly feel the hunger that had been building deep in her belly for months, now. She wants him to touch her, she wants him to kiss her until he can't anymore-- As if they could fit all their lost time into the hour they shared.  
  
Fingers snagging on the thinner fabric of his shirt, Uhura pulls the cloth free of its severe tuck into his pants, unceremonious and abrupt, "Tell me when it's too much," She urges, her voice gentle as she drags a nail across the delicate skin of his hip, trying to keep an easy pace, "I don't want you to pass out this time."  
  
He laughs, actually _laughs_ softly, resting his foreheads against hers as her fingers slide up over his bare stomach and chest under his shirt. "I will endeavor to stay conscious," he says breathlessly, and nuzzles down the side of her head, behind her ear and against her neck where he inhales without even trying to hide the fact that he's smelling her, scenting her like a cat in heat.  
  
One hand distracted, her other raises to satisfy an urge she'd stifled for quite some time-- Long fingers slip into the thick, soft hair at the nape of Spock's neck, nails scratching across his scalp as Uhura takes advantage of the sheer closeness of their embrace. Spock is curled into her, his breath warm on her ear and sending goosebumps down her spine as she turns her head to place loose, brief kisses across his cheek and down his neck, anywhere she could reach as she hugs him close to her, taking her time with him.  
  
Pulling the collar of his turtleneck down so she can press her lips against the pulse of his throat, he slides his hands experimentally down her waist to her hips, feeling every one of her emotions as they run through her, and his thumbs find her prominent, skinny hip bones. She's so thin, so dainty and small, so fragile... he could lift her. He wants to.   
  
Before he can work up the nerve to get his hands around her bottom and lift, the door whispers open behind them and a soft cry of "Oh!" shocks them both into stillness. Spock whirls around, eyes wide as he takes in the sight of Uhura's roommate standing just inside the door with a hand over her mouth.   
  
Frozen in place for a moment, Spock manages to clear his throat and step away from Uhura, resisting the urge to cover her with his body, as he assumes these two have already seen eachother in some level of undress by now. "Cadet Velas."  
  
"Professor Spock," she greets in return, glee lilting her voice up.   
  
"I was just..." Spock clears his throat, already hurriedly tucking his shirt back in.   
  
"No, yeah, of course," she says, grinning from ear to ear, and she holds her hands up. "I'll just uh-- hallway," she says, and then darts back out of the room to give Spock a moment to make himself decent.  
  
Uhura's entire body crumbles beneath her, and she actually sags as if the weight of Gaila's intrusion weighs her down physically. Spock has already stepped away, and she can feel the loss of him beside her as if she's losing a favorite blanket. Covering her face with one hand, she curses Gaila's bad timing, curses Spock's limited schedule, and curses the cosmos for fighting to put Spock and her together, only to cruelly give them so little time alone.  
  
It was agony. But agony that was plainly shared, as Uhura soundlessly hands Spock his coat, dropping her hand from her face to give him a sympathetic, longing gaze-- "We'll have to find somewhere we won't be interrupted," Uhura observes, trying to hide the obvious disappointment from her voice, looking anywhere but his lips, barely able to meet his eyes.  
  
"I agree," he says as he shrugs his coat back on and fastens up the snaps. "Perhaps you would be agreeable to being given the entrance code to my campus lodgings?" he offers, deftly putting the coat's darts back in place. "I have no roommate."  
  
"Let me know when I can come over. I'll bring wine," She agrees, taking over snapping the final few on his lapel, smaller hands brushing his out of the way callously in order to take over, hand drifting down his chest and lingering once she finishes, looking for an excuse to keep touching him, taking her hand away only when it was inappropriate to linger longer than she had. "You should go," She proclaims, making no move to usher him toward the door.  
  
"If your intention to bring wine is to inebriate me, you should know that alcohol does not affect vulcans in the way that it does for humans," he says, also making no move to leave just yet. "Might I recommend instead, dark chocolate."   
  
Only then does he pull away, exchanging a very awkward nod in the hallway with Gaila, who comes running squealing into the room as soon as he's gone.


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn't that Spock didn't _want_ to be with her. It's just that every time she puts her hand on his, his brain seems to short circuit. The second time they got close in his apartment, he panicked and gave an excuse. He's pretty sure it wasn't convincing, but she was forgiving anyway.   
  
The second time after that, however, he couldn't think of an excuse, and he didn't think she deserved another half-baked reason why he was scared, anyway. He was the one who said vulcans don't lie, after all, so lying on his back on the couch with her draped between his legs, he grips her by the shoulders and pushes her back, frowning at the coffee table as her lips leave his neck.   
  
"Nyota..." he murmurs, his voice strained, his face flushed and his hair mussed around his forehead. "I find myself... afraid."  
  
It never stops being a pure feat, how Uhura manages to go from a flushed-entranced-aroused girlfriend to a serious-concerned-compassionate girlfriend, and she makes the change now. Sliding to her knees, she puts some space between their skin and gives Spock his air. Her own hair is ruffled, shaggy from his hands and from their very good make out session not five minutes ago.  
  
"Is it the speed?" She asks seriously, leaning back on her heels, palms on her thighs. Her entire body was humming, but this was important for Spock to feel okay during this, "You want to do this, right?" She needs to clarify. He might have changed his mind.  
  
He pushes up on his elbows and licks his lips as his breathing evens and slows. He looks at her and his stomach throbs in a way that makes him nervous, so he glances off to the side again. "I do want to," he says. "I cannot lie... however, every time I think about engaging in sexual congress with you I feel... inadequate."  
  
"Inadequate," She replies, "You know you're good at kissing. I tell you you're good at kissing. You can't be inadequate at an act you've never performed. You don't know where you stand," She argues, trying to be firm, but compassionate, "I am more than sure you aren't inadequate."  
  
"I wish I had your confidence," Spock swallows, his cheeks flushing an even more vivid green. "I have never even beheld a naked woman, much less pleasured one. The mind is willing, the body however is... insecure and ashamed. I am possessed of the illogical thought that if we simply postpone intercourse indefinitely then I will never have a chance to disappoint you."  
  
Uhura squints at Spock, as if she suspects him of telling a joke, or maybe outright lying, "Do you think I don't enjoy kissing? You don't think that's pleasuring me?" She asks curiously, eyes narrowed, "You have not disappointed me yet."  
  
"That is not what I mean," he says, brows furrowed. "There is a difference between passive and active pleasure. When you... inadvertently pleasured me in the cave, that was active... whether you meant it to be or not. I simply do not have the experience to--" he can't look at her anymore, and glances again to the side. "What about you?" she seems so straight laced and sweet, surely if she hasn't had an abundance of sexual partners either, it wouldn't be that big of a deal...  
  
"Do you know about human female physiological signs that how whether she's aroused or not?" Uhura asks politely, "Even in a scientific manner, do you know what we're like? Or do you have absolutely no idea." She doesn't sound like she was going to pass judgement right away, her question genuine.  
  
"I am aware," Spock says, his voice sounding rough. "Increased blood flow to the vulva, self-lubrication, a deepening of the vaginal walls... biologically very similar to that of a vulcan female, however your genitals do not seal closed in the same manner outside of active use."  
  
"Good. Then you're already a step ahead," Uhura's hand reaches out, then, to gently take Spock's hand. She gives him a look to stifle the noise of protest she was sure he would make. Setting his hand down against his thigh, she raises up on her knees and straddles his palm, raising up, then down, swiping her cunt-- smooth and without the interference of underwear--across his open palm. It's easy to feel how slick she is, wet against his palm as she rock slow against him, eyes unwavering on his face, "What do you feel?"  
  
His mouth drops open the moment her soft pussy touches his hand, and for the first few moments he holds his breath as the sensations hit him with the gentleness and subtlety of a sledgehammer. Her soft, wet skin feels boiling hot against his palm, and the glide feels not dissimilar to her tongue, but he can't make his mouth work to save his life, his eyes focused unseeingly on the point their bodies make contact, past the line of her bunched skirt. When his voice finally unsticks from the back of his throat, he gives an almost pained bark of pleasure, and his head arches back against the arm of the sofa, his entire body rolling up to chase the feeling.  
  
She goes on, her motions agonizingly slow. This is for her as much as for him, and she pulls away when she thinks he's getting overstimulated, hovering just inches away from him on impressively strong quads that don't do so much as tremor until she has his attention again, "My experience doesn't matter," She insists, seriously, "Middle school, high school, it doesn't matter," She urges, "Believe me, Spock, I have _had_ inadequate sex before. Even with men who think they know what they're doing and-- Trust me--" Her hand urges Spock's fingers into a particular formation, singlingout his middle finger and grinds the hard nub of her clit against him, an action that make her toes twitch and her breath catch with every pass she takes of his fingers against her, "None of them compare," She manages to gasp out, her voice a breathy little whimper, hips jolting to grind against Spock's hand just a little greedily.  
  
High school? _Middle school?_ How young did she start having sex? Spock would panic if the nerves could get past the pleasure, but his brain is so comfortably whited out with bliss that all he can comprehend is the slide of her against his hand. It feels heavenly, and he wants to explore but he finds himself completely paralyzed by the sensation of her pussy grinding stripes against his palm and fingers.   
  
"Nyota--" his voice is strained, and he grabs her hip with his other hand, not to stop her or guide her, but just to hold her, his grip strong enough that he might leave little fingerprint bruises by the time he's done, a thought that makes her own belly flutter with pleasure. He curses again, that same curse from before, his head hooked all the way back over the arm of the sofa as he presses his hand up into her cunt experimentally. He doesn't really know what he's doing, but god help him it feels good.  
  
The surprise of his finger pressing inside of her earns him a choked gasp, her breath catching in her throat as she sucks in too heavily, too suddenly. Her tongue drags across her lip as she rocks her hips down to meet his finger. He slips inside of her so easily, without an ounce of resistance or nerves. Her cunt opens to his finger, to the second as her hips twist and urge him deeper inside, raising and lowering back onto him. It's only a couple of times, to let him feel how wet she was, how ready and open and pleasured she was, "_You_ do this to me," She whispers urgently as she leans back, continuing to guide his palm against her as she rolls and rocks herself onto him again, and again, giving into the lust in her belly for just a moment.  
  
Spock hears her words, but he can't do a thing to reciprocate. She watches the front of his slacks tent outwards, his cock pressing against the fabric, and she gets the first real, tangible sense of how fucking sensitive his hands are. He's shaking under her, and turns his face to hide it partially against the back of the sofa, and he curls his fingers inside her, experimenting with what it feels like to actively touch her. Her insides are so soft and yielding, gripping his finger from all sides with molten velvet, and when she arches up again, he sneaks his ring finger inside her alongside the middle.   
  
She's afforded an extra stretch, and he's given another gutpunch of bliss as a second finger is squeezed into her. He shouts against the cushion at his cheek, his brow furrowed hard and his ears flushed bright emerald-- he can't even think, he just grinds his hand up into her as his stomach goes hot and boils with pleasure.  
  
Uhura lets Spock have full reign of movement-- the first finger was a surprise, but the second was practically unheard of, leaving her to gasp with surprise and look down at him. She rides the second as eagerly as the first, one hand coming to land on his chest. She props herself up on his chest, fucking herself down against his palm, those two fingers leaving her with the softest, wet slap, "Perfect, that's perfect," She encourages him softly, "If you curl-- Those fingers, you'd hit my g-spot,which-- is supposed to feel amazing," She rumbles, trying to keep with the tour theme, flush raising across her shoulders as genuine pleasure makes her fuzzy.  
  
He notes she says 'supposed to.' She really has had inadequate sex, hasn't she? Does this qualify as sex, he wonders? Are they having sex right now? He was under the impression that both Tab A and Slot B have to be involved for it to be classified as sex, but he finds the lines blurring as his cock throbs with the pleasure coursing down his arm and coalescing in his stomach.   
  
Nevertheless, he curls his fingers, and when she gives a soft whimper of pleasure, pleasure that he feels in kind through his hand touching her skin, he abruptly orgasms. He didn't mean to, he wasn't even aware of how close he was, but he gives a stuttering shout into the cushion, his hips pulsing slightly upwards as he releases unexpectedly into his briefs.  
  
Her hips continue to roll, her mouth dropped open in pleasure-- that is, until she hears a similar telltale, barking shout and Spock orgasms without her touching him at all. Or, well, maybe touching him entirely too much. She stops the motion of her hips to watch him twitch and shudder through his orgasm, apparently finding it a better use of her attention than her own climax. "That's incredible," She says, quietly in awe, regardless of if he can even hear again, not knowing if he was about to fully knock out or not-- "Was that good for you?" Her voice is hopeful, excited. She wanted him to enjoy himself.  
  
When he finally relaxes into a puddle of goo on the couch, quivering and breathing hard, he unsticks his face from the cushion and looks up at her. His irises are blown out wide just like before, and there are a few pressed-green lines etched across his face from the texture of the cushion, his lips are parted and his hair messy-- he looks nothing like the put-together flawless vulcan that he presents to the world.   
  
"Yes," he says, his voice harsh and croaking. "That was... incredible."  
  
She squeals happily at that, leaning over him and pressing a tender kiss to his temple, then his cheekbones, feeling how warm he was, pouring every ounce of adoration into the touch, "And that's with your hands," She says, sounding fascinated, "And you think you're going to disappoint," Fingers comb through Spock's hair, as she clucks her disapproval.  
  
Spock smiles again, something he's found himself doing more and more often with her, and turns his face to hide it in the side of her neck. He pulls his hand away from her and wipes the sensitive palm against his trousers to dry it off before gripping her other hip, more gently than before.   
  
"Regardless of how I perform in individual encounters, that does not negate my lack of experience," he says, his voice rough and crackling. "However, I see now that I will never gain experience if I do not perform."  
  
"Next time," Uhura agrees, with a passing look to Spock's clock hanging above the wall, "You have to get cleaned up, and I should get back to my dorm before Campus security questions me for being out past curfew," She fixes Spock with a pouting look, "I think they're rather sick of me saying I was visiting my boyfriend," And with that she leans forward, three fingers cradling his jaw as she kisses him sweetly on the lips, closing her eyes and lingering for maybe just a moment too long. She pulls away all at once, lifting herself up and off the couch with one roll of her hips.  
  
It takes her a moment to make herself presentable, fingers tugging at her skirt, finding her panties strewn across the floor, her heels in a similar state-- Each moment hyperaware of Kirk's heavy-lidded gaze on her, his muscles still too lax to do anything but watch her appreciatively. In fact when she's ready to go it takes a monumental effort to get him to his feet, but manners dictate he do that at least, despite the mess he'd made of himself.  
  
"Listen," Uhura says, turning one last time before she goes, eyes kind on his face, "Try not to worry. I stopped messing around like that when I realized I wanted to apply for Starfleet years ago. Sex just... doesn't really matter if you don't care about the person you're having it with," She admits, raising on her tip-toes to press another brief, chaste kiss to his lips, "I'm just happy to be with you." She pulls away to give him a serious look, before turning on her heel and starting back to the dorms, with one final goodbye.  
  
It isn't until after she's gone that Spock replays the information of everything that had happened with more clarity, reliving the event with the pleasurable memories dulled enough that he can look at the happenings more subjectively... that he realizes, Nyota had not climaxed. She stopped when he did, rather than pursuing her own pleasure, and upon realizing that, his stomach plunges to the center of the earth.   
  
She deserved better than that. She deserved to have her mind blown the same way she did his. But if she's been having sex since middle school, even if it's been thus far mediocre, it means he has a lot of ground to cover. Which means it's time for research.


	7. Chapter 7

As the next week comes, the date of his birthday also approaches. He informed her that vulcans don't celebrate their birthdays in the way humans do, there's no special significance of the day to them and he didn't anticipate nor desire special treatment. However, he'd also mentioned a week prior to that in passing, a particular root from vulcan that he missed seasoning his food with, reminiscent to ginger in its spiciness but with a higher natural sweetness to it as well. So she might have gotten her hands on a bottle of that-- not that it was easy --as well as a bar of dark chocolate just for funsies, both of which she brings to Spock's apartment the night of his birthday to surprise him.  
  
She lets herself in, but just as she's about to announce herself, she hears the tinny sound of moaning coming from the other room. The lights are dimmed in the living room, but the hallway leading to his bedroom has a flickering light dancing against the wall, and so she slips curiously down the hall, peering around the corner. There she sees Spock sitting at his desk in his room, with a pad of paper in his hands, most of the sheet filled with handwritten notes, while in front of him plays a fullscreened and 3D projected porno. He keeps rotating the angle, inspecting and nodding along like he's listening to someone giving a lecture, and occasionally writes something on his notebook, which she now sees he's written at least six or seven pages of notes in.  
  
"I had no idea this is why you didn't want any plans for your birthday," Uhura says, for lack of a better course of action. She stares at the projected genitals wide across the dark bedroom walls, her voice without any actual malice. She wasn't mad, she didn't think-- If Spock was getting invested in his sexuality, then good on him. She had a feeling he wasn't watching-- And taking notes-- for no reason, though, especially since it seemed to be a video of graphic pussy worship.  
  
As soon as she spoke, Spock launched into panic mode. He scrambles to turn off the display, dropping his notes on the ground in the process as the projected moans cut off abruptly. "Nyota," he greets with a crack in his voice, instantly flushing dark green and clearing his throat as he stoops to retrieve his notes. "I did not-- I was not expecting-- you did not announce your visit."   
  
Setting the small gift box with the wrapped root on Spock's bed joined by the bar of chocolate, she takes a couple of steps toward the desk, falling short, not sure if it was exactly her place to step inside the realm of hologram, "What are you doing?" She asks her affection plain in her voice.  
  
He snaps the book shut and closes his computer over the notebook, standing in front of it like he could hide what he was just doing by standing in her line of sight to it. He hadn't seemed flustered while he was watching, like taking notes objectively on an act of coupling meant nothing to him, but the instant she entered the room, all bets were off.  
  
"You explicitly said you had no plans for your birthday, so I thought I would surprise you... did you not make plans in order to sit here and..." She trails off, looking at the computer, to the spilled notes, gesturing toward it all rather vaguely. Taking another step closer, she looks up at him with a heartbroken expression, wanting to reach out and touch him with sympathy but restraining, not knowing where his head is at the moment, "This isn't what I meant by don't worry, Spock, you know that."  
  
"I was not worrying," Spock says, clearing his throat yet again to try and wring the tremor out of it. "I was... studying. There is a difference." He glances down at the floor, unable to look at her, his cheeks burning brilliant vermillion. "I did not refrain from making plans in order to study, the date had no bearing on my intention to research."  
  
"Studying," She repeats, as if she couldn't believe that was the umbrella he wished to put his pornography habits under, but again, unsurprised. He'd been taking notes after all. Uhura doesn't say anything, nodding as she purses her lips and tries to find something suitable to reply with. Finally, she unsnaps her Academy-issued blazer, throwing it onto the bed to join the rest of her presents and taking another step to him, very serious, "Then you think you learned something?" She asks, pointedly.  
  
Spock swallows hard when she starts to undress, his pulse picking up in his throat. "I will not be able to make any judgements on the matter until after I attempt to put it into practice," he says, his voice hitching on the rough side. "And I believe you will also be the judge of my ministrations. You are, after all, the one I am attempting to impress... after failing to bring you to climax before."   
  
He sounds like he's suffered a great deal of shame over that matter, and can't bring himself to look up at her as he says it, even as he starts to unbutton his own uniform jacket-- which of course he's still wearing, even in his off time.  
  
The space between them is closed as Uhura's fingers reach out to replace Spock's at his lapel. Her eyes don't ever once stray from his face, her fingers delicate as she tugs the snaps and buttons free, her fingers slipping under the shoulders to help his arms free. She doesn't say anything as she works, only speaking once his jacket has joined hers on the bed, and she's effectively in his space with nothing to do, "You'll make it up to me," She says without a hint of doubt in her voice.  
  
Fingers hook in the circle of Spock's belt loops and Uhura uses them as leverage as she stands on her tip-toes to kiss him, consumed by the warm hum that his consideration never fails to instill in her, driven by a need to be close to this sweet, stupid genius, in whatever form that nearness would take.  
  
Quite versed in kissing by now, Spock wraps his arms around Uhura's waist and drags her up into his space, lifting her nearly off her toes in his hurry to devour her mouth. With one strong arm wound around her waist, he cups the back of her head with the other, his mouth slotting into hers and his tongue for once taking the initiative. Surely, he had been composed while.... studying, but he is an organic being and he has physical responses to visual stimuli just like everyone else.   
  
Breaking the kiss for a moment, he asks in a slightly breathless voice, "May I have permission to undress you and physically manipulate your body?"  
  
She can feel the tension in his body as she's held against the hard planes of his chest, her hands curling into his chest as she leans into the kiss, happy to be reciprocating and surprised at the use of tongue-- A gesture she encourages, mouth opening to his and tongue meeting his with a shocking tingle of static, anticipation making her giddy. Her hips lean forward, just enough to feel the hard line of his groin against her hip, impossible to mistake and enough to make her face flush.  
  
"By all means," Uhura says, her arms slipping from being trapped in the embrace, reaching to comb through Spock's hair and pull herself closer, going in for another kiss.  
  
He slides his hands up the back of her shirt when she gives him permission, tugging it up and off her head so she's left only in her bra. Then, hooking his arm around her waist, his other hand beneath her knee. He lifts her effortlessly and carries her to the bed, dropping her down beside they coats and leaning out over her. He may have watched a little more porn than he'd care to admit, and he's currently feeling more than just a little desperate to touch her.   
  
Leaning out on one hand, he slides his other palm down her belly and grips her waist above the high-waisted line of her skirt, claiming her mouth in another hard kiss as he experimentally grinds his hips against her. She feels a little nudge of something, but his groin doesn't feel exactly the same as other experiences she's had with human men. She won't really know what she's working with until she gets his pants off-- there isn't an abundance of vulcan porn out there even if she had also been possessed with the idea to "study" in return.   
  
He pauses then, his nerves once more taking over and he leans up to just look down at her, his hair mussed and brows furrowed as he searches her face. "You are... beautiful," he says, his hand moving from her waist to brush a thumb over her cheekbone.  
  
It's the boldest he's been to date, and Uhura can swear she had never felt so immediately invested. Typically trysts required a little persuasion to get her invested, but as soon as Spock's hands curl around her waist, warm and strong and absolutely massive in comparison to the rest of her, she finds her breath coming short and fast, her lips parted and mouth suddenly dry in the wild, giddy way she hadn't experienced for what feels like eons.   
  
She can feel her heart beating behind her sternum, the grind of his hips so bold and so unexpected that it shocks the breath from her, fingers tightening into the fabric of his shirt, her legs spreading to accommodate his demand for space-- even as he leans away to compliment her, the simple act burning her ears and making her smile. It's a sheepish little thing, a surprising flip of the script as she peeks up at him through her lashes.  
  
"I wasn't aware porn now included flattery," Uhura deflects, her hand still curled in the short hair across the back of his neck, fingers scratching and dragging across his hairline, "You're doing great so far," She says, voice soft and encouraging.  
  
"Traditionally, it does not," Spock admits, breathing heavily. "It was not a part of my study. I simply wanted to say it."  
  
His eyes trail down her form and he swallows hard, feeling the pulse quicken between his legs, but finding himself lacking in inspiration for what to do next, despite the hours he'd just spent studying. "I admit I feel... paralyzed," he says, looking back up at her face. "I may have overprepared in my haste, and unintentionally given myself too much information."  
  
Uhura's laugh is bright and sudden, a little too breathless like it was a sudden rush after holding her breath for just a second too long-- "You can start by kissing me again," She murmurs, ever the patient teacher as she leans up to capture his lips, this time shifting her hand to find his. Once she does, her fingers go to his wrist. This time she guides him to her breast, the delicate lace just enough to obscure and preserve her modesty but not enough for him to miss the smooth expanse of dark skin she bares for him.   
  
"And when you're feeling brave," She adds as she parts for air, kissing across his jaw and dragging her tongue across the lobe of his ear, "You can take off the bra."  
  
A full-body shudder runs through him when her tongue makes contact with his ear. His shoulder hitches up towards the sensation so quickly he almost socks her in the jaw, and he sucks in a loud gasp. He feels a tingle shoot down from his ear to his jaw and down the back of his neck, raising goose bumps down his arm. It's nearly as strong a reaction as he'd had the first time she licked his palm back in that cave.   
  
"Oh," he says softly, his hand flexing over her breast through her bra. And then again, more softly, "Oh."  
  
"Oh," She repeats with a quiet laugh, air huffing in the curling shell of his ear. She hadn't played much with his ears, not wanting to entirely break him before he even knew he was being broken-- If Gaila had been right about his hands, which she had been, then she was certain his ears were a whole other universe of fun to be had. But later, probably, when he could remember his name for more than five seconds.   
  
She wiggles her body against him, trying to remind Spock of his, as he seems to have gone still beneath her, struck stupid with sensation as he so often gets, "Stay with me," She urges, pressing her chest into his hand, her voice quiet.  
  
He nods dumbly, rebooting his brain by force. "Yes. Yes, my apologies," he says, and leans down to kiss her again. He includes tongue again this time, angling his head so they can seal their mouths together, and he pays more attention to the feeling of her breast under his hand. She isn't hugely endowed, her breasts are small, perfectly suiting her whip-thin little frame, but the flesh there is nonetheless yielding and soft. He knows what nipples look like objectively, but he finds himself very excited to see her with the garment removed.   
  
And, it occurs to him, there is nothing preventing him from actually doing so. He reaches behind her where he knows the hooks of her bra are, but as soon as he finds the clasp he struggles with it, long enough that he pulls back and breaks the kiss in order to frown down at her. "Is this a combination lock?" he asks, his voice so earnest it's comical.  
  
"Oh my god," Uhura says with another exasperated peel of laughter. She sits up as he leans back, arms untangling from his hair, reluctantly removing his hold on her as she reaches behind herself. How long had this been going on? How many months had she been trying to get this to happen?   
  
Honestly, to stumble over a bra clasp was taking her right back to high school-- and she feels as giddy and stupid with Spock as she did with boys back then-- like she was too thin, too small, too dark, too pointy. But the way Spock looks at her, the quiet huffs of breath he gives if she so much as breathes on him...   
  
Warmth floods her chest as the lace of her bra slips past her arms, and it's with one final heave that she tosses her bra aside, bare beneath him and suddenly shy, distracting him with another kiss, fingers curling against his jaw.  
  
His eyes drop to look her over again, and his mouth goes dry. He's never seen breasts in person, not even his own mother's at a young age. He'd seen many a breast in his _studies_, but nothing like this. He drags his hand down the center of her chest, between her peaked breasts and down her belly, before he quickly unzips the zipper at the side of her skirt, and with some wiggling, works that down off her legs. Just like that she's in nothing but her panties, and he feels immediately overdressed.   
  
In order to make her feel more at ease, he kneels up and tugs his turtleneck up off his head, giving her the first look at his bare chest. Vulcans as it turns out are remarkably alike to humans in structure, he has (green) nipples and wiry musculature like a human, with dark hair groomed over his chest and down his stomach. The only real difference is the tone of his skin, flushed a dark, brilliant green in the center of his chest, evening back out to a midtone olive along his shoulders and arms. He isn't exactly stacked, but he has a ropey, sinewy kind of power to him, like a cat. A somewhat apt comparison, considering they evolved from a feline species instead of primate. His perfectly straight bangs are mussed in the process, and he leans back out on his hands on top of her, breathing a little heavy.   
  
"What do I do next?" he asks, begging for assistance.  
  
She feels vulnerable beneath him, the unfamiliarity of the feeling enough to rip the air from her lungs. The room should be cold around her skin, but pinned beneath Spock she was anything but-- despite the hard peaks her nipples turn into under his scrutiny.   
  
The intensity of his gaze is enough to raise goosebumps across her skin, and she's struck stupid for a moment at how absolutely on edge she feels. Her nerves are heightened with exposure, and she can't remember the last time someone's touch had this much raw effect on her. Uhura had never wanted to touch someone as badly as she did Spock, and as he draws closer she gives into the hunger. Her knees raise to trap his hips over hers, her arms raising between them so her fingers could cradle his face and jaw.  
  
"When in doubt, kiss me," Uhura whispers, a bit ashamed at how breathy and weak her voice is, like a child experiencing lust for the first time. So she follows her own advice, pressing a hungry kiss to Spock's lips, until her she has to pull away for breath, "Touch me," She begs between breaths, pulling him in for another kiss as her body rolls up and against him, plainly hungry, plainly aching to be touched, warm and trembling faintly beneath him.  
  
He slides his hands up her body at her behest, pleasuring himself in the process as he feels her skin glide against his palms, and they rake up over her belly and breasts up to her shoulders, and back down her arms. He devours her mouth hungrily and meets her rolling with his own, his chest and hips grinding against hers. He breaks the kiss to mouth down her throat instead, and unable to look her in the eye as he asks it, he keeps his face ducked and murmurs into her ear,   
  
"Would you permit me to attempt cunnilingus?"  
  
The absolute surge of hunger that goes through her at that quiet request has her weak in the knees and foggy in the brain, nearly dizzy with the surprise that he takes her with, "Absolutely," She agrees, voice warm as her thighs around him squeeze, as if knowing they were to be the subject of scrutiny soon, "Do you remember the spots I showed you?" She asks, sounding only a bit preoccupied as she tries not to get too distracted by his lips on her throat, intoxicating as they were.  
  
"I believe so," he says, leaning up enough to quirk a brow. "I trust you will offer counsel if I am not doing a satisfactory job."  
  
As he crawls backwards down her body and lays himself down on his belly between her legs, he's struck by how very unvulcan this is. Vulcans do not have an equivalent to cunnilinus, or any oral sex for that matter. It's considered superfluous, unnecessary for the purposes of reproduction, even during the heat, they don't engage in this. After spending as long as he did researching this exact subject, a length of time he'd be ashamed to admit, he can't help but wonder why. Just like the lack of kissing on the lips, it seems like something omitted just for the purpose of eliminating pleasure from vulcan society. With the absence of pleasure is the absence of greed for it, he supposes-- but it hardly seems apocalyptic as he works Nyota's panties off her legs and spreads her thighs apart.   
  
His scrutiny is both exhilarating and embarrassing as he takes a moment first just to look at her. His expression is soft, curious, distant almost as his thought cortex disconnects from the rest of his brain. He's seen more than a few pussies since beginning his research, and objectively knows the anatomical parts by heart, but he's never seen _her_ before, and that brings it into an entirely new context. He feels the need to compliment her again, but finds that his need to taste her exceeds it-- and so he does. Opening his mouth after a moment of observation, his eyes close and he seals his mouth against her. His technique is clumsy with inexperience, but technically superb, considering the amount of worshipful research he's done, his tongue diving up her center before sucking her clit, drumming the flat of his tongue against it for a few short flicks. This, he finds, is almost better than having his hand stimulated.  
  
Uhura makes a mental note to retain as many mental faculties as possible, but it turns into a much more difficult task than she would have anticipated. Spock looks at her just long enough or her body to twitch occasionally, tensing and releasing in anticipatory nerves. His gaze was always so intense, his opinion always so serious-- She hungered for his approval while wanting more. She can feel warmth pooling in her chest, melting into her core. She can feel his breath on her, heavy and even, unnaturally so, as though it took a great amount of restraint for it to stay that way, but really it's his tongue that gets her.  
  
The first swipe makes her squeak, jaw dropping stupidly as her eyes flutter shut, "Spock--" She says suddenly, his name coming to her unbidden, filled with surprise. But he doesn't stop, swipe after swipe making her gasp and squeal. On either side of his head, he can feel her thighs twitch and shake, can feel the shift in weight as Uhura raises her hips to grind her cunt into Spock's mouth. She wasn't wrong-- It was good, _very_ good.   
  
Her mouth opens like she was trying to find something to say, but she can't for a minute, so she closes her mouth and tries again-- "Can I touch you?" She asks, trying not to overwhelm him but frankly dying to be able to touch him, wanting to grind against his mouth in earnest, flush spreading across her cheeks at the desperate little plea.  
  
Rather than pull his mouth away from her for even a moment, Spock simply opens his eyes and looks up at her from between her legs. With his nose pressed to her mound, the lower half of his face obscured from sight, he simply gives her a single nod before closing his eyes and going right back to business with his brow furrowed in concentration.   
  
He eats at her like he's starving for it, holding her legs apart by his grip on her thighs, the contact there affording him an extended sense of her pleasure. She doesn't even need to assist him verbally he finds, because he can feel when her body doesn't react as strongly to certain stimuli, and he experiments until something works. He tugs on the hood of her clit with his lips and grinds his tongue beneath the soft skin, he seals his mouth over her vulva and sucks, and adds a bit of teeth when he needs to apply a little zing of surprise every time the pleasure becomes to muddy and ubiquitous. His technique is far from perfect, but his earnest exploration of her anatomy is breathtaking nevertheless.  
  
A hazy, pleased little smile works its way onto her face as she twitches and gasps, absolutely unabashed. A part of her fully anticipated this going horribly, or maybe he would come too soon or too hard and it'd be over-- but she hadn't anticipated the vigor with which he dove quite literally into her, his tongue prying her open and fucking her until her hole is wet and twitching at so much of a breath of attention. Her fingers find the line of his hair, and her nails bite against his scalp as she drags her fingers through to grip onto his head tightly, holding him steady.  
  
One thigh raises, unable to stand being upright; Uhura's body is coiled tense like a spring, abdomen shaking and twitching as she tries fruitlessly to control her breathing. It's a fool's errand, her belly surging with gasps of air as Spock curls his tongue and mouth into her, using lips and teeth to drag shuddering gasps from her lips. There's one move he does with his hooked tongue that makes Uhura absolutely drip onto his jaw, her entire body bucking upward.  
  
He had anticipated this level of loss of control from her, observing multiple examples of it in his studies, but actually applying techniques to combat it is a challenge he finds as engaging as a complex math problem. He has to pull back if she bucks up too hard to avoid gashing her with his teeth, and finding moments to steal breaths through his nose in between long stretches of holding it to exert total control over his mouth.   
  
Her hands in his hair, he finds, is a uniquely pleasurable sensation. A vulcan's hair is meant to be nothing but protection from the elements, kept in rigid styles and manicured to maintain a sense of purity and authority over one's appearance. To have it so purposefully messed up and tugged and toyed with offers him a sense of being out of control-- something he knows his father would lose his mind over if he knew his son was relishing in, in any amount. He gives a soft groan of pleasure into her cunt, his voice vibrating against her clit through his tongue, and a particularly sharp tug sends a sharp zing of pleasure down his spine. He pulls away, his lips and chin shiny as he looks up at his lover with blown-wide eyes.   
  
"May I penetrate you with my fingers?" he asks, his voice rough and thick in his throat.  
  
All of this asking was enough to make Uhura's stomach bubble excitedly, adrenaline and anticipation spiking in the face of such manners. Maybe that was part of it, the knowing. She knew what to anticipate and when, meaning there was no thrill of surprise to be had-- A fact that might not have been a big deal to some, but for Uhura? It was as much of an explanation as any.   
  
Her fingers curl and pull as she takes the permission she was granted and runs with it, absolutely ruining Spock's hair with her insatiable need to pull and hold on-- though judging by his reaction he isn't having a hard time with the 'challenge'. In fact, he groans against her, and it's enough to have her gasp, pathetically, her hips thrusting hungrily forward. It's only at the grinding drag of his teeth as they grit across her cunt that Uhura actually moans, twitching and bearing down on him as she tries to lean back. She was having fun, but there was more to be had, her eyes closing as she tries to force her shoulders to relax back on the be, not her forte by any means.  
  
He takes her unspoken grinding as permission, and turns his hand palm- up in order to slide his pointer and middle fingers inside her. Instantly he moans against her cunt as her insides grip his long fingers, clenching down around them and sending a tingling, white-out pleasure down his arm and into his stomach. He can feel every muscle from his armpit down to his cock tense with abject bliss, and he grunts softly when that pleasure is joined by the feeling of her pulling again on his hair.   
  
"Keep doing that," he mutters against her thigh to encourage the tugging on his hair, and he pulls his fingers back to twist them into her again, jackhammering another wave of bliss through his body. He might as well be fucking her with his cock for as good as it feels for him, but he intends to hopefully be able to actually do that tonight, if he can manage to keep from cumming prematurely... again.  
  
Is he actually fucking her in earnest? He had been studying. Uhura marvels as she feels his fingers begin to shallowly press in, then out, then twist. Her heart follows the twist of those fingers, attention torn between the warmth pooling in her stomach and the man between her legs. She was supposed to remain calm, to offer advice. She was supposed to remain sentient.  
  
She could only hope Spock took her breathless, toe-curling gasps of pleasure as signs that he was doing pretty goddamn alright.  
  
Uhura slides her fingers across the heavy line of his brow before sinking her nails into the thick hair of his bangs, "Another finger," She reminds. His fingers were amazing, his actions slow and lingering and enough to make her drip around the digits, sopping wet into his mouth as her body seizes around him again and again, an orgasm steadily building into something incredible-- But his hands were a ticking clock to Spock losing control, and at this rate? Her, too.  
  
He opens his eyes again to look at her as he obeys, sliding a third finger inside her and increasing the stretch-- and this time, he can't look away. His hooded eyes remain open, watching her twist and buck and shiver, his brow furrowed heavily down over his eyes. He breathes out heavily through his nose, his technique losing a little bit of focus as his hand is stimulated by her squeezing walls, but it's no less enthusiastic. He can feel her fear of losing total control through his touch on her skin, something which he can relate with very intimately, but he can't bring himself to pull away long enough to reassure her.   
  
Instead, he twists his fingers into her in a way that makes him nearly shout against her cunt, a gust of hot air hitting her while his tongue and lips vibrate and massage against her, pushing her towards climax with his eyes open and watching. He wants to see it.  
  
The twist of those fingers gets her-- They hit a wall inside of her, and with another turn, pushes through, to a pocket of wet slick that seemed to be entirely unexplored by his hands yet, and it's a sensation that strikes her as deep as his hands are. She lurches up, entire body tight like a wire as she shakes as he fucks into her g-spot. If the continued attention to that spot was intentional or not it was hard to say, but Spock ground into that spot over, and over again.  
  
All she can do is hold on as, with a surge of warmth so sudden she's blindsided by it, Spock fucks her into release. Both heels leave the bed and curl around Spock's shoulders. Her eyes are closed, possessed by the sensation as she turns her head to the side and muffles a scream, wet and desperate as Spock's unrelenting pace sets a course to milk her dry, her walls bearing down on his hand even as his fingers make her squirt down his arm.   
  
She's never done that, before. She hardly aware she did it, now.  
  
Spock is startled by the sudden release of fluids, he hadn't actually encountered that in his research, but he can tell that she's in pleasure just through the link he maintains with her by his hands keeping contact with her skin. He can't tell if she just urinated on him or if it's a different human biological function, but well-- he _had_ thought to himself some time ago that he would let her piss on his hands.   
  
He leans back to watch as she soaks the end of his bed, his pants and his arm, but he can feel through the skin link that continuing to thrust his fingers into her feels good-- and so he does. His own pleasure is a backdrop to curiously watching as she writhes through the blissful seconds, until the moment he feels that her oversensitivity turns to pain, and he pulls his fingers out of her. She continues to shake, full-body muscle spasms making her jerk under him, her entire body flushed and trembling. Finally he lifts his hand to his face to smell, and then taste the fluid coating his palm.   
  
"Not urine," he says definitively. "What is the purpose of this function?"  
  
Her chest heaves as she tries to come down from her high. Her legs seem locked over Spock's shoulders, even as he moves within their confines. She can't move or doesn't want to, either way it takes her a bit to answer his question, although it registers right away.  
  
What had happened? She can feel how wet the sheets are beneath her, how wet her thighs were. Astonishment was the first complex emotion to filter through the haze of shaking pleasure that otherwise left her thought process rather linear, and when she finally rationalizes that she tries to control her body for the first time in a long time, her legs twitching, but finally moving from his shoulders back onto the bed.   
  
"That doesn't normally happen," She gasps, slowly catching her breath, "Did you feel that rough spot? How I discharged more when you began stimulating it?" Licking her lip, she releases the vice-like grip she had on Spock's hair, clenching her hand experimentally into and out of a fist to regain feeling in the digits, "It was female ejaculate. It's-- Not an easy thing to get a woman to do," She admits, laughing and trying not to sound shy about describing her own bodily functions.  
  
Spock's brow furrows. "But what is the function? The purpose of male ejaculate is to carry semen to the womb and inseminate an egg, completing the fertilization cycle and resulting in pregnancy and furthering the species. What is the purpose of female ejaculate?"  
  
"It's-- Not a function that we can normally access, but it-- does feel very good," She admits, cheeks turning pink, "You stimulated the glands that produce that liquid. From what I know, there are two exits to it. One into the vagina, one into the urethra. When stimulated, excess fluid is created that then... Expels, when the pressure becomes too much. It's original intent is to promote semen mobility and provide nutrients, like the other self-lubricating fluids a woman produces," She puts an arm over her face and turns away from his gaze, embarrassed beneath him.  
  
Spock's brow remains furrowed. "I suppose that dehydration historically has not always been as consistent a problem for humans as it has for vulcans," he says. "But it seems to me that the expulsion of fluids in that quantity is a flaw in the design. Nevertheless, I felt your pleasure and am pleased to have successfully brought you to this involuntary reaction. I hope to do it again, if you will permit me."  
  
Uhura drops her arm from her face, fixing Spock with a look, "Right now?" She asks, and it's hard to tell whether she sounds excited or daunted by that request. Her tongue traces over her lip, and she shakes her head, not letting him reply to confirm or deny it-- "I was thinking we could keep going," She asks, "I'm still....Much more undressed than you," She chides, staring pointedly at his trousers, seriously.  
  
"Not necessarily this moment," he says, and then follows her line of sight down to his pants, and the belt still firmly cinched around his hips. He looks back up to her face, and his cheeks flush green. "Very well. However I feel the need to warn you that vulcan male genitalia functions differently than that of a human's. I have become familiar with human male sexual organs through my research, and there are both structural and functional differences to how the organ is situated on the body as well as aesthetic differences in surface appearance."  
  
"You must want to see me beg," Uhura says as she sits up, pushing herself to her elbows, then onto her butt to sit up properly. She leans forward to drag her nails over his arm, hooking her finger in the cuff of his pants as she draws him close. She barely has to pull, he seems willing to follow her guidance anywhere she leads, and so she miles and leans forward to place a slow, steadying kiss to his lips, "Walk me through it," She murmurs against his lips, "I would like to see you."  
  
Spock nods and licks his lips before he allows Uhura to push him over onto his back. He unhooks his belt and unbuttons his pants, and he shifts his hips up as his lover helps to pull them down. "Male and female vulcan genitalia have a function to protect it from the natural sand present on vulcan," he explains while Uhura helps to undress him. "It seals shut when not in use. For females, this means that the vulva shrinks outside of stimulation, and closes up, almost like the petals of a flower might at night. For males, this means--" he swallows just as she helps to divest him of his underwear. "The penis is fully retractable."  
  
Sure enough, among a carefully groomed and trimmed thatch of black hair, Spock has a slit that doesn't look dissimilar to a vulva. It's bright green in color, flushed with blood, and situated higher on his pubic bone than a pussy would be, so the comparison isn't exact, but it's close enough that it doesn't look unfamiliar-- just unexpected. He also has a lack of external testicles, just a smooth perineum from his slit down to his ass. He looks embarrassed, glancing away. "Ordinarily the penis emerges involuntarily with sexual pleasure, but I have... held it in. Because I am embarrassed."  
  
Uhura watches with kind patience, but her face doesn't register anything negative as his groin is revealed-- Unfamiliar or not. And of course it wouldn't, she had no illusions about Spock's alien heritage. As much as he looked human, he wasn't, and a difference in reproductive organs was to be expected. Everything he was saying, however, seemed relatively easy hurdles to get over... Until he mentions being embarrassed.   
  
"Why?" She asks curiously, feeling bolder now that her thighs were holding steadier beneath her and she has the upper hand again. She's sore, but in an amazing way, and she wants nothing more than to reciprocate. Her hand reaches out to trail across his chest, nails scratching through lavish sternum hair and further south, following the well-manicured landscape until she reaches the dark tuft at his hips, "I know you're not fully human, Spock," Uhura chastizes, a teasing little smile on her lips as she takes a risk and dips her finger along the slit that was said to house his cock, finger gentle.  
  
"I know that," Spock says. "But I have never been... _seen_. Not like that, not by anyone. Not even my own mother. Mothers of vulcan boys do not see their sons penises ordinarily, due to their retractability--" his voice catches as her finger brushes across him there, and she feels his slit strain and flutter slightly, struggling to hold back.  
  
Encouraged by the snag in his words, Uhura's finger slips deeper, dragging back up along the warm, flush lips. She doesn't delve too deep, not wanting to hurt him on accident, "I could close my eyes?" She offers, eyes on Spock's face as her palm continues to move against him. It sounds like a joke suggestion, but it's clear on her face that she's serious. "How can I help?"  
  
"I do not believe that would alleviate--" his breath hitches again and he turns his face away to press into the pillows, gulping thickly. He raises a hand to cover his face, grunting softly as she grinds her palm against the slit and finds to her surprise, that he's wet in the same way she gets wet. She applies pressure with the heel of her hand just so, and the seal breaks. The pressure from inside surges forward, and Uhura watches as his cock comes sliding out between her fingers-- and just keeps going. Nine inches, or possibly ten when fully emerged, frankly gratuitously large, the fleshy lips are little more than a shallow ridge around the base, smoothed out into a puffy circular seam around the bottom, where the lubrication glands are situated, and leak with arousal.   
  
The head, she notices, has a double-ridge instead of the single ridge that a human cockhead has, and the thick vein along the bottom of his cock is ribbed in regular intervals with semi-rigid cartilage ridges like the vertebrae on a spine, to assist in holding up such a formidable cock and maintaining erection. And of course, the entire thing is engorged with so much blood that it's very nearly crayola green-- almost the same shade as his ears, currently.  
  
It's not very often that Uhura could say she's been rendered speechless, but of all things, Spock does the trick. She's disgusted by the depravity of her own body, a heavy pulse running through her as he seems grown to his full girth, her cunt already throbbing and making heat pool in her stomach. She couldn't remember wanting to be fucked this bad, the fun usually in the foreplay--But she made no moves on the hungry feeling now swimming just under the surface of her consciousness, intentionally stifling her arousal to attend instead to the flush of green beginning to make its way down his neck and chest from his ears.  
  
"See?" She asks without judgement as she leans over the length of his body, one leg straddled over his abdomen where she was perching, the cleft of her ass just barely grinding against him as she raises up to trace her lips from the shell of his ear, down to his chest, "I've yet to be disappointed," She adds, voice warm as she drags teeth across his nipple, just for fun.  
  
His breath hitches and he arches up slightly, relieved to hear her approval. "Oh," he gives a very soft noise, pressing his head back into the pillow. "I am... relieved to have your approval. You should know I have no condoms, but that they are superfluous regardless. Vulcans are infertile outside the mating season, with a 0.0023 chance of fertility occurring even if you were currently ovulating, and if you are not, that statistic drops to 0.0003-repeating. As for the subject of sexually transmitted diseases, as I have never engaged in intercourse before, there is no risk of that either. However if you would prefer to postpone, I could--"   
  
Uhura's hand raises again, and this time she covers his mouth with her fingers. It wasn't a hard or particularly forceful way of getting him to shut up, but Spock gets the gist regardless, "I couldn't get pregnant regardless, I'm on medication that prevents it," She explains calmly, leaning back to grind against that cock of his. Her eyes catch his as her hips grind down against him, smearing her own come across his hips in broad, wet stripes as she asks again, "Do you still want to do this?" She's giving him another out. As many as he needs.  
  
"Yes--" he gasps, his hands flying to her hips, not to guide or stop her, just to hold. "Yes, yes please-- I want to--" he can't seem to bring himself to say either of the things he was thinking 'fuck' felt both too reductive and vulgar, while 'making love' felt too presumptuous, so he settles on, "I want to penetrate you."  
  
"Good," She encourages, and gives him no time to reconsider. Her hips roll up, she leans forward, and with one hand between them to position him, Uhura aligns the head of his cock with her oversensitive, twitching entrance and strikes down. She means to take more of him in one sweep, but despite his attention, his cock is still formidable, the head slipping inside of her with a lewd pop, each ridged notch pouring into her as a she slowly sinks down onto him, the nails of her fingers biting into the soft skin of his chest.  
  
His eyes roll back and then close, his head tipping back into the cushions as he's completely and utterly overwhelmed by the feeling. If he thought her grinding down on his fingers was something special, he doesn't even know how to cope with the pleasure of her fitting herself over his cock. His hands dig bruises into her hips and he gives a long, stuttering, moaning sigh that signals the total obliteration of his thought processes.   
  
"Ny-- Nyota!" his voice sound broken as her hips connect with his after several long, dragging seconds. He breaks off into a string of vulcan that she can only half-identify, but it sounds like a general string of things like 'oh my god, god help me, oh fuck, oh fucking hell' if her vulcan is any good (and it's pretty good.)  
  
His girth is massive at the base, and when he finally sheathes himself fully inside her, it's a feeling she's simply never felt before. He curves and stretches her deeper, throbs and pulses inside of her stronger, and as his hips give one trembling, jerking thrust into her, she can feel it all the way in her throat.   
  
It takes her a second to adjust, fingers flitting across his chest as her cunt flutters around the sudden intrusion. She twitches and pulses around him as she adjusts, giving herself maybe a little less time than she needed-- But greed overcomes self preservation, and with an overexcited roll of her hips, Uhura brings herself up and plunges herself back down, fucking herself on him as she leans forward, putting her weight on his chest for leverage as she begins to move, her breath a heavy huff set in rhythm with his cock filling her to the brim.  
  
Spock can't speak or think, his mouth hangs open and he moans with every strike of her hips down over him, his entire body burning and consumed with pleasure. He moves instinctively, his legs lifting and bending so he can brace his feet flat on the bed and use that leverage to fuck up into her, meeting her every downward stroke. Every time their hips meet with a resounding slap, he shouts again, and when he forces his eyes open to look at her, he feels a powerful swirling in his stomach as that old vulcan possessiveness kids in. He needs her-- he loves her.   
  
His grip tightens on her hips and he tugs her down to meet him, his incredible strength lifting the wiry girl as if she weighs as much as a thimble. He lifts her and tugs her back down again with quick, albeit somewhat shallow strokes, as the two of them get used to the feeling of being connected like this. Her cunt stretched to the limit, and his cock squeezed within an inch of its life. He can feel her pleasure in addition to his own through the contact of his hands on her hips, a sensation that he finds doubly overwhelming as he pounds up into her.  
  
His involvement drives the breath from her lungs as her hands shift from his chest, to his forearms. Her thighs try to lift with him, to find a rhythm she could help set-- But he's stronger than her, a note she seems so quick to forget, and he lifts to fuck into her like she weighs absolutely nothing at all. In part it was a relief-- The sensation was all a bit much for her to handle and keep a consistent pace, so she was relieved when he seemed not only able to help, but more than willing.  
  
"Spock," Uhura says, her voice breaking as she wets her lips. She tries to find words. Find anything. But all that comes out is his name, and a plaintive, desperate look in her eye as she moves to meet his hips. The combined force of their efforts leads to a sharp clapping sound, skin meeting skin as she begins to move faster, starving for him to fuck her even as she grows wet and the slip of his cock inside her gets easier, "Perfect-- Perfect--" It's all the encouragement to spare as she leans back, shoulders sore from maintaining posture above him; She can feel Spock fucking into her walls, can feel herself bear and tighten down on him further, as if he could even handle that torment--But when she looks down, she sees a bulge at her stomach where Spock had made room. It's all she can do to stare, entranced as it moves in time with his shallow thrusts, buried inside of her to the near-hilt.  
  
Spock follows her eyes to the place she's staring and he sees it too, the way her skinny belly bulges out every time he grinds up into her, and he has to pause in his movements just to keep from blowing early at the sight. He takes a few much-needed breaths, and the abruptly sits up. Without pulling out, he flips her over onto her back and leans out over her instead, snapping his hips down to meet her as pleasure and instinct take over. She bounces under him, her body small and wiry and pliant beneath him.   
  
"Nyota," he moans her name in return her tummy hitching up every time he hilts into her, their hips connecting with those same loud slaps as his thrusts deepen from this new angle, pulling back farther and swinging forward harder. Her cervix is likely to be bruised after this, he's fucking her so deeply, but with every gutpunch rendering her speechless, her entire body is flooded with sensation that make her eyes roll back.  
  
Her high ground is lost, and with it, the illusion that she was in control at all, "Spock," Her voice is a near-cry, breaking as he begins to drive into her, apparent apprehension lost in the face of raw, unfiltered instinct-- Her stomach bulges with each new thrust, the position making the intrusion all the more pronounced as she takes him again, and again.   
  
Uhura's hand finds purchase on his shoulders, nails leaving half-moon marks that couldn't even compare to the motley array of bruises he'd left blooming on the dark expanse of her skin. Still, she doesn't seem to care; jaw slack as her heels find the curve of his hips and pulls him in tight against her, keeping him close so he could drive in further, and further, until she could swear he was fucking her very lungs. Overblown, dark eyes lock onto Spock like a lifeline, pain massively overshadowed by pleasure and filling her stomach with fire in every thrust. Her hand scrambles from his shoulder to his hair, and it's only then that she realizes what she wants. Her fingers clench in his hair and she pulls him in for a kiss, demanding and completely lacking any semblance of gentleness in the face of lack of experience. She's pretty sure that doesn't count anymore.  
  
Spock can feel how close he's growing, but he wants this to be memorable for them both. He props up on his elbows on top of her, chest to chest, engulfing her smaller frame in his as he fucks into her, and with a rough voice he asks,   
  
"Nyota-- may I meld with you? Telepathically link our minds--" he can't quite go into all the details, but he's more or less confident that she's probably heard of it before, if she's done any amount of research into his race.  
  
The significance of the question, despite how far-off she was from anything akin to 'rational', wasn't lost on her, though it seems to take her a second to realize what he'd said in the first place. Once she realizes it, though, her breath dies in her chest, and she wonders if there was ever any other answer.  
  
"Yes," She whispers, nodding urgently, "Yes, yes..."  
  
His fingertips find the meldpoints on her face easily, and in a mental heave that she could only describe as a whooshing feeling, their minds connect. All at once, she can feel every detail of everything he's feeling, the sensation of his hand throbbing on the bed as he supports his weight with it, the feeling of his fingertips against the skin of her face, the feeling of his cock being squeezed inside of her-- and he can feel everything she feels-- the weight and heat of his body on top of her, the stretch of his cock splitting her open, her breathlessness. But it cycles deeper than that, because once he feels what she's feeling and vice versa, she can feel him feeling her, echoing back onto herself and folding over and over, like standing between two mirrors, the reflections stretching infinity in both directions.   
  
Only when he's satisfied that the link has been made, and he can maintain the connection, he starts to thrust in earnest again. This time with every slap of their hips together, the pleasure is doubled, then quadrupled, multiplied by 8 then 16 and onwards into infinity with every subsequent strike of hips on hips and cock in cunt. It's maddening, it doesn't even feel possible, but one thing is for sure-- vanilla sex is never going to be quite the same again after this. And she can feel that he's just a little bit smug, knowing that.  
  
She can feel it. The awe at this moment is another chord in the symphony their bodies create in her head, each and every note overwhelmed by pleasure. His own is entangled in her own, and she can feel his cock fucking into her as she feels herself being fucked into, a dizzying sensation that has her back arching and her mouth parting in soundless, repetitive mantra of his name and various iterations of positive reinforcement-- As if he even needed it.   
  
He's very deeply in her brain now; the pleasure she feels is plain as day, her adoration and affection for him a warm backdrop to the striking pleasure still burying itself hilt-deep in her guts, slamming home and driving every ounce of sense from her head, until she becomes little more than a breathing, feeling, moaning remnant of herself, consumed by the moment, and by him. Nyota considers it a win when she manages to curl her arms back around his neck and meet his thrusts with her hips, the aimless fingers of a curious hand drifting to drag nails against the shell of his ear, wanting to feel it for herself, hoping to push him closer to the edge before she comes before him, already hypersensitive and tipping over the edge of control a fact he can certainly feel.  
  
She cums first technically, but only just barely. The second her pleasure crests his moves along with it, bursting up together like a fountain as he spills into her. His semen is thick, stickier than a human's and the quantity is much greater as he fills her with sharp, snapping thrusts. He moans out loud against her throat, their bodies arching and twining together, the meld reflecting them so many times over themselves and one another that it's impossible to tell where one of them ends and the other begins.   
  
There are no words that could describe this kind of pleasure, because it goes deeper than physical. He feels her affection for him and she feels his affection, and those swelling emotions meet and then meld into the physical pleasure. There has never been a more accurate representation of making love than their ability to feel one another's love for the other.   
  
Finally, after what feels like an hour of mind-rending bliss, their bodies relax and their minds pull away, high tide leaving the beach of their combined mental embrace, leaving them sore and sticky and tired and satisfied. He doesn't break the meld yet, holding his fingertips still to her face as he looks down at her and meets her eyes. His voice is shattered as he murmurs, "T'hy'la... taluhk nash-veh k'dular." She doesn't know the meaning of the words exactly, but with her mind still connected to his, she can feel the adoration he pours into those four words, and can make a pretty educated guess.  
  
"Taluhk nash-veh k'dular," Uhura repeats, committing the phrase to memory and making a point to find its meaning later. Even exhausted as she was, her ear was impeccable, the words said without even a stumble over pronunciation.   
  
She makes no attempt to move away, despite the mess she'd made of the bed, and they'd made of each other. She couldn't feel anything, though, Spock's fingers on her head a grounding tool, really-- Without them, she wondered if she'd just float away, adrift in a sea of pleasurable aftershocks. She wants to be closer to him, feels it with whatever last remnant is in her body, and so she does just that.   
  
With her last dregs of energy, she pulls herself into the curve of his arm, her hip slotting against his and her legs tangling, too, wrapping herself in him fully as her head tucks into his chest, lazy kisses peppered across his chest as her eyes look up at him, hazy and warm with adoration, "Happy birthday," She offers, with a cheeky, small, smile.  
  
He huffs the smallest of laughs before slowly, carefully weakening the link one fingertip at a time so it isn't a horrible shock, until their minds retreat back into their own heads. Slowly, his cock pulls out of her without even needing to separate as it slips back into its protective channel, and Spock rolls off onto his side, tugging her into his chest.   
  
"Is this how all humans celebrate their birthdays?" he asks in a torn voice.  
  
There he goes, making her feel small again. She curls up into him tightly, not minding the nearness, ducking her nose fully into his chest as she smiles, "Usually not as well if they do. But usually no," She lifts her head an iota to find her chocolate bar and gift strewn on the floor, "It's just the presents, typically. Mine are on the floor. You'll like them." Uhura explains, sounding exhausted as she tucks her head back into Spock's chest, having absolutely no interest in craning her neck for longer than absolutely necessary.  
  
"I will attend to them tomorrow," he says, resting his nose in her hair. "For now, I would like to carry you to the shower and once we are clean, sleep together. Does that sound agreeable?"  
  
"It does," she sighs dreamily as he picks her up into his arms and brings her to his bathroom, wondering what sort of lottery she managed to win and additionally if this was some sort of prolonged coma dream.   
  
Oh, she'd be disappointed if it was. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey enjoy this gratuitously long pon farr chapter lmao i make no apologies
> 
> oh also this takes place in the senior year, a couple months before the plot of the first movie

Usually one for such planning, Spock had somehow managed to lose track of the dates for his coming time in the hustle and bustle of teaching. Seven years is such a long time to wait in between periods, and as this is only his second one to date (as a late bloomer who'd had his first when he was 20) he'd simply lost track of it. However there was no mistaking the symptoms as they approached him, and he found himself utterly at a loss for what to do.  
  
Since he'd written home about his courting Uhura, his father had expressed his deep disapproval, though T'Pring had gladly moved on to the actual object of her affections, leaving him with even fewer options than before. This was to be the period in which they would be bonded permanently, and now... now he's hanging in the wind.  
  
Still, he tries to make arrangements as the symptoms worsen, and he avoids Nyota whenever possible. He doesn't hide in broom closets or anything to get away from her, but he doesn't linger, and he seems distracted whenever the two of them are together for any amount of time. He trails off his sentences, zones out into space and often crowds into her space without regard for who might be nearby, treating a few scattered students here and there to the sight of the put-together Professor Spock nuzzling and smelling the side of Uhura's neck in the hallways more than once. Their relationship isn't exactly a secret, but still-- he'd been the one to tell her that vulcans don't engage in public displays of affection.  
  
Most of the time, Spock's strict no-affection policy in public worked well enough for her-- She was never exactly a fan of it, either. People giggling as they walked past, the stares, the unsolicited comments, all were things Uhura hoped to avoid altogether. Plus, she really didn't need giggling Office Administration majors asking her how she managed to get so close to the incredibly stoic professor, even if it made her preen a little when it happened.  
  
Listen, she was proud of her accomplishments. So sue her.  
  
That said, her 'accomplishment' had been scarce for going on a month. It started with him having to cut their dates short. Then here were no dates at all, and then no lunches together. No study sessions in the library sitting a chivalrous distance apart while Spock buys her tea, no 'coincidental' shared Ubers back to Spock's apartment.. She would have thought she'd done something wrong if the time they did spend together wasn't bordering on overwhelming.  
  
After the first time, they'd both taken to sex like fish to water, diving in with the fresh excitement of high school virgins, but it had never been good enough to warrant affection the next day, in public. And yet, for all Spock seemed to be avoiding her at every turn he also seemed compellingly drawn to her, intoxicated and unable to stay away despite his better judgement. Their fleeting interactions more often than not ending with hungry hands on her hips and Uhura's heart absolutely racing, she decides it's time to do something about it. Enough was enough.  
  
"You've been acting strange," Uhura declares one day after his last class for the night. Nyota had waited for him to leave his classroom and the throng of adoring students in his wake, hanging in a corner to catch him off-guard before he entirely turned away or before he made an excuse to leave an entirely different direction. He wasn't cornered, but if he wanted to run away he'd have to actively run away from her down a hallway, in which case the point would be clear.  
  
Spock walks stiffly, aware of the smell of her perfume beside him. She still smells like that flower from back home... it drives him mad.  
  
"I have," he says, at least he has the decency not to deny or hide it. "I am planning a short trip back to Vulcan to remedy that very behavior."  
  
That draws her short, and Uhura frowns, "You're going back?" She says, sounding concerned, "What's there? Are you sick?"  
  
"Yes and no," Spock says, his voice sounding strained as they exit the building and start towards the rideshare area. "It is an ordinary ailment for vulcans, but something that can only be remedied in very specific ways. I need to return home. I should only be absent for a week, I have already begun making preparations."  
  
After weeks of him touching her, it's her turn. Two fingers reach out to loop around his wrist as she pulls him back from beelining straight toward the cars. Nerves spike in her chest, in her lungs, anxious mind buzzing as she plants her feet and looks up at him, brows knit together with obvious concern, "You can't be vague about this," She says seriously, voice bordering on grave, "Should I be worried?"  
  
The instant her fingers make contact with his skin, he yanks his hand back like she burned him, and turns those black eyes towards her, his irises spreading out and nearly overtaking the white sclera. His breathing increases from just that split second of skin contact, and for a second it looks like he either wants to grab and throw her, or make love to her right there on the sidewalk, but he does neither, frozen in place.  
  
"Not here," he says finally when he finds his voice. "I can't. Not here."  
  
She isn't cowed, hand dropping to her side even as sharp-lined eyes flick down at is wrist, then up into those eyes that look as if they wished to swallow her whole. She doesn't break eye-contact, mouth set in a downright grim line, "Then take me somewhere you can."  
  
He turns again without a word, silently giving her permission to follow as he climbs into one of the shared cars. He waits for her to climb in beside him and then pointedly rolls the window down so he can keep his wits about him and avoid hotboxing himself with her damn smell. He's silent and rigid as a board as they drive across campus to his apartment, and then leave the car parked in one of the shared spots so someone else can use it later, before taking the elevator up to his floor, still silent as the grave.  
  
Only when they're inside his apartment and the door is locked does Spock turn to her, and before he can manage to get a word out, he grabs her by the shoulders and fairly slams her into the wall, hard enough that it actually almost hurts, and crowds into her space. It's been the first time going on a month that she's been in his apartment, a careful consideration he'd taken to avoid something exactly like this, but now he can't help it. He presses his face against her neck and shoulder, breathes in and just moans at the scent of her.  
  
Breath knocked from her lungs by that very sturdy hit, Uhura's mouth opens as she gasps for air. She doesn't respond with anger, or with fear, confusion eeking over her face in its stead, as the space in front of her is instead invaded by the man. They're closer than they have been in days, and his breath is warm on her neck, pebbling goosebumps down her arms. It takes a surge of willpower, but Uhura manages to lean away from Spock, fingers on his chest pushing him away firmly, but not rough or angrily.  
  
"Is this why you're going to Vulcan?" She asks seriously, trying to meet her eye, her hand still firm on his chest.  
  
Those wide black eyes burn down at her, and he's grateful for the amount of willpower she manages to exert over him, because it's the only thing that gives him the strength to pry himself off of her. Staggering backwards away from her, he almost trips over his orderly stack of identical shoes near the door before managing to circle around his couch. He collapses onto the cushions and hangs his head in his hands, taking a few shuddering breaths.  
  
"Yes," he says finally, sounding almost close to tears. "Yes, I am sorry. Being near you right now is... challenging."  
  
"Because?" Uhura probes, her voice raising. She hasn't moved from the wall he'd pinned her to, although she had allowed him to walk away-- Probably because he couldn't exactly run away from his own home. But considering the effect she plainly had on him, despite every bone in her body urging her to comfort him, she doesn't move. She needed to know what was going on, and if being near her was as hard as he said, she should keep her distance. So she does, even if hearing Spock so torn up is devastating.  
  
Spock takes a few more shuddering inhales before he finally manages to gather his strength. "What I am about to tell you... it something that vulcans do not share with people outside our species. You will not find it in any medical textbook or documentation... we are extremely careful to keep it entirely away from public records. Do you understand? You cannot share what I am about to tell you with anyone, ever."  
  
"That won't be difficult. I don't share with anyone to begin with, " Uhura agrees crossing her arms in front of her chest as she looks him over. She looks for sweating, flushing, paleness, greenness and finding mostly nothing... Aside from the obvious distress in his face.  
  
Spock looks her over for a few moments, like he's considering whether to tell her or not... but if he's honest with himself, he was never going to be able to hide this from her. He trusts her implicitly. Nodding for her to come over, he waits until she's seated on the sofa across from him and he turns sideways, one knee propped up, in order to take both her hands in his. Taking a deep breath, he starts out slow.  
  
"Every seven years... vulcans are overcome with a biological imperative called pon farr. Characterized by a neurochemical imbalance, our cortical levels rise and fall erratically, as the brain's regulatory systems shut down, and serotonin levels become wildly unbalanced. This culminates over a period of typically seven or eight days in an event known as plak tow which translates roughly to... blood fever."  
  
He can feel her concern levels spiking dramatically the more he speaks, through his connection with her hands, but honestly there is no comforting way for him to tell her about this. Every seven years vulcans fuck real good for a long time? Nothing would do it justice.  
  
Unfortunately, while Spock was describing an amorous time associated with the procreation of his species, Uhura had a different assumption-- "Blood fever?" She repeats, sounding deadpan as she looks over at him with concern evident in her eyes and chest. She doesn't bother schooling her face when they're allow, her poker face resoundingly useless against Spock who can read her (mostly) like a book, these days.  
  
"So you fight?" She asks, perhaps showing her ignorance. But, to be fair, she wasn't Vulcan, and Spock had been particularly physical since this had all began; What else was she to assume? "Is here something that triggers it?" It's clear her mind is already buzzing, her eyes not once leaving Spock's. Instead, Uhura watches him, ignoring her twitching fingers that all but demand she comfort her boyfriend. After the talk.  
  
"A fight is one way to satiate the plak tow," Spock nods, dropping his eyes down to their joined hands, unable to stand to look at her eyes any longer. "There are three common methods of assuaging pon farr-- the kal-if-fee, a series of physical fights, often to the death between two males in plak tow-- deep, unbroken meditation not unlike a coma, or... prolonged intimacy."  
  
"It's _mating season?_" Uhura says with a hushed sort of incredulity, as if the words she was speaking were foreign. "I thought you were _kidding_ when you mentioned a mating season."  
  
Things suddenly made much more sense; His aversion to her, his snappy, demanding attitude, his possessive claim over her, at times... a species as evolved as the Vulcans having a mating season wasn't unlikely, many advanced societies had evolved them in order to limit the human shortcoming of just being horny all of the time.  
  
However, this revelation only seems to bring her more confusion, shaking her head as if to clear the diatribe her brain had gone on-- "Then what are you going back to Vulcan for? Surely not to fight. Will you meditate?" The question of Spock going back to his home planet to mate without her wasn't even one in her mind. She'd never been the jealous type, and fortunately she wasn't about to start, now.  
  
"That was my plan, yes," Spock nods. "I would require the assistance of my father, as I have never undergone the meditation ritual before. During my only previous pon farr, I engaged in the kal-if-fee for six days, and luckily managed both to survive and not to kill anyone. I would not prefer a repeat of that harrowing week, if I can avoid it. However, if the plak tow is too advanced by the time I arrive on vulcan, there may not be time to submerge my mind completely in the meditation, and I will have no choice but to fight. If the plak tow is not appeased within eight days, the resulting tension will kill the vulcan in question, without exception."  
  
"Travelling to Vulcan will take some time," She agrees, her frown only deepening as he explains his plans-- and what happened last time. Maybe a younger Spock could handle a week straight of fighting, but the Spock as she knows him now is not that sort of man. She doubted he ever was, but now he's very much not that man. Finally, Uhura looks away from his face as well, her fingers twitching in his hands, the back of her index finger stroking long, comforting lines across his palm slowly. And then, very seriously, she adds, "You've ignored intimacy as an option. Why is that?"  
  
"You are human," he says, feeling his ears burn as she suggests it. "To engage in six or seven days of prolonged intimacy would be... challenging for you, physically. At it's peak, the plak tow demands release every hour, and between six to eight hours at either end of the bell curve, for a week straight. I would be rough, rougher than I have ever been, and nearly impossible to communicate with... and while vulcans are typically subfertile outside of pon farr, during the blood fever our fertility increases by more than 400%. There is a chance even your birth control would not be enough to avoid insemination-- and attempting to wrestle a condom on me would be met with mixed success even when the fever is at its lowest points. I would be animalistic, almost cruel-- and you would miss a week of your studies. I cannot entertain the idea of you losing a week of your education to babysit me while I am unable to control my basest urges."  
  
Uhura listens with a look of serious contemplation. It's evident that she's taking his warnings seriously-- There are very few warnings Uhura takes lightly, but even less when they're brought up by Spock. And she believes him, genuinely. She's seen the time leading up to it, but if it is an urge that can otherwise only be sated by death, then there's no way she could treat such a threat flippantly. She's silent for a moment, clearly thinking, staring at the woven carpet beneath the sensible, standard-issue coffee able in the center of the room, "When will it start in earnest?" She asks, calmly.  
  
"Within the next six days," Spock says. "Which is why I have already begun to make preparations. If I am able to leave tomorrow, the 8 days it takes to reach vulcan will overlap slightly with the plak tow, but with luck I will not be too far gone for my father to induce deep meditation."  
  
There's another brief silence as Nyota seems to make up her mind.  
  
"No," She declares, "There's no need for you to risk it," There's a finalty to the shake of her head, as if she'd made the decision and the conversation was over, pulling her hand away from Spock's grasp to settle in her lap, "If your alternative to sleep is dying in some sort of death match, the risk is too great. You should stay here."  
  
"I do not know how to perform the ritual meditation myself," Spock shakes his head. "I could fail completely or worse-- succeed only partially, and render myself unaware of my body's slow, frantic death around me. It is too dangerous to attempt on my own."  
  
"I agree. Were you to undergo the meditation ritual, I would encourage you to Vulcan, but you said it yourself that there was no guarantee," Uhura explains, patiently, her fingers folding in her lap. She's not touching him at all now, an apparently intentional move, judging by how far she was holding herself from him, "So, we'll engage in intimacy. It sounds fun," She adds, with just a little devious smile-- The years at Starfleet had hardened her somewhat in preparation for deployment, but Spock got to see the devilish little smile occasionally on her lips, the way her eyes crinkle at the corners, and he sees it now.  
  
"_Fun?"_ Spock sounds disbelieving. "What part of what I described sounded _fun?_ I could seriously hurt you. You are a very slim woman, your bones are remarkably easy to break with little effort-- and the chances of conception are extremely high."  
  
"There are ways to terminate pregnancies after conception, Spock," Uhura reminds him patiently, her stance unchanging, "I will take my medication, and if we must cross that bridge down the line, we will cross it," She insists, her voice gentle, but firm, as she finally looks back up at Spock, a steely edge to that playful look, now. It would almost seem like she was trying to intimidate him, if she thought he could even be intimidated, "I don't plan on losing you to a failed induced coma or a battle to the death. This is the simplest option."  
  
"In theory, perhaps. But there is nothing simple about the concept of a week of intercourse. You would be responsible for keeping me alive, as I will fail to eat or hydrate without reminders and occasionally even force-- I could break your bones if I am not careful, and I _won't_ be..." he grips her hands, sounding distraught. "I don't want to hurt you."  
  
"Spock," Her voice is soft now, her breath heavy as she sighs, breaking that steely resolve just an iota at the sheer agony in his voice, "I'm a senior cadet at Starfleet, almost a graduate. In as little as six months, I could be deployed in the field, where I can and will, most likely, experience pain. We're taught how to handle pain. I'm not worried about pain, I'm worried about you." She insists, leaning down to force his eyes to catch hers, "There is no guarantee your father will be able to help you meditate, but there is a guarantee that if he fails, you will be stranded and surrounded by other angry, mateless Vulcans who want nothing more than to tear you limb from limb. There is an opportunity to circumvent that, and you're debating?"  
  
"Of _course_ I am debating," Spock's voice croaks softly as he stares at her tiny, beautiful hands in his. "If I am faced with a choice between being torn limb from limb and hurting you, I would always, forever prefer to die." He lifts her hands, pressing her knuckles against his lips first and then his forehead, and she can feel the heat of his skin. It's usually hotter than a human's skin, but now it's so hot it very nearly burns. Blood fever indeed.  
  
"And that's very sweet," Uhura admits, a little smile on her face as she feels how very hot he's running--It's a concerning temperature, but it doesn't seem to be that kind of heat which seems to be killing him, "But think like a Vulcan for a moment. Logically. If Vulcans killed their mates, there would be no continuation of the species. It goes against your evolutionary structure to hurt me irreparably, and if you break a bone," She shrugs, "I would have my entire body shattered before I hear news that you died fighting one of your own people."  
  
"Typically, vulcan mates are also vulcan," Spock mutters, kissing her knuckles. "Human bone is more brittle than vulcans... however, you are correct. There is a good chance that my ingrained affection for you will cause me to hold back instinctively, but there is still a chance that I could hurt you entirely by accident, unaware of my own strength." He meets her eye again finally and can see that she has no intention of backing down, and he sighs. "If I break anything... you must promise that you will seek medical attention."  
  
"I will seek medical attention," Uhura agrees, sounding relieved, shoulders actually relaxing an iota as her fingers twitch to stroke the soft pad of his palm, "I will keep you alive, and I will keep myself as healthy as possible," She adds for good measure, "Does it hit all at once? Is there an official day and time it begins, or is it more nebulous than that?"  
  
"It will increase over the next week, and I will resist it for as long as possible. But there will come a point at which I will no longer be able to function, and that is when the plak tow has officially taken over my sensibilities. I will have a vague sense of when this change will occur the day before, and the time until then will be spent fasting, meditating, and preparing. I will gather medical supplies, and sedatives. If I break one of your bones, you will need to sedate me so that you can seek medical attention without being... pursued. However, the vulcan metabolism triples during pon farr, so you will have less than ten hours to seek emergency medical care before I awaken, and if I do so and you are not there, there is a chance I will seek... alternative mates." He clears his throat. "I would sincerely like to avoid that, if possible."  
  
"I have no plans on allowing you to find another mate," Uhura assures, after listening intently to his words a second time, "When you sense the change occur the day before, alert me. I should be with you before it hits in full so there we start on a good foot," She looks down at their hands, quiet for a moment as she seems to be thinking particularly hard-- It seems as though she's planning a full-scale defense against this occurrence, inconvenient as it was. "I'll spend the next work finishing my classwork and notes for the upcoming week, as well as a few days for a buffer should I need to rest afterward. I think this week we ought to spend apart. We'll both be very busy preparing, anyway, and I think the absence is preferable to you feeling strung out. Are we agreed?"  
  
"Agreed," Spock says. "I am... relieved by your levelheadedness in this matter, as with all matters."  
  
"I've been told my composure under pressure is impeccable," Uhura says with a smile and no small note of pride-- Being complimented on levelheadedness by a Vulcan of all things had to be a massive compliment. She steels herself, knowing full well what her touch does to him in his current state, and moves her hands from his to cradle his jaw with the tips of her fingers, lifting his head to meet her eye as she leans forward to press her forehead to his, sincere, "We will get through this," She murmurs, her voice soft, "I promise."  
  
Her smell envelops him and he leans in, wrapping his arms around her and crushing her into his chest. His arms wind around her waist and his fingers dig into her shirt as he grinds his face against her shoulder, taking in a deep, shuddering breath.  
  
"I wish I could muster your optimism," he says, his words muffled against her shoulder.  
  
Uhura's arms slip around his shoulders, and she sits there for a long moment, cradling him as her fingers card through his hair, her nose tucking into the dark swath of hair at the top of is head, "One of us has to be the realist, I'm afraid," She sounds actually disappointed, though it didn't exactly run deep. "Fortunately this is happening now, before I do get deployed," Uhura admits, breathing a sigh of relief.  
  
"It will happen again in seven years," he warns, pulling back while he still has the ability to do so. "And seven years after that, for as long as we are together. It stands to reason that if our relationship persists, eventually the pon farr will fall while we are both working..." he rests his forehead against hers again. "However, it is illogical to worry about the future when it is so far away it cannot be planned for. Leave now, I beg of you, or I won't have the self control to prevent myself from touching you."  
  
Watching her go is like a physical pain in his chest, but her absence gives him a sense of clarity he doesn't have when she's around. He's able to prepare in the coming week, to gather sedatives and meditate extensively, overseeing his class's substitute teacher whenever he has the clarity of mind to do so, following a meditation. He fasts during the days and allows himself only one small meal at night, intentionally starving his body of calories in order to weaken himself so that when the time comes, he won't be quite as strong as he usually is. He knows Nyota will take over feeding him once he's out of his mind, at which point he has no control over his caloric intake, but anything he can do to weaken his superhuman strength in the meantime will be another ball in her court.  
  
She prepares too, getting ahead of schedule on her classwork and informing her teachers of an upcoming "vacation" for which they all wish her luck and fun. There's a kind of happy anxiety that comes with the idea of being absolutely demolished by Spock for a week straight. Dating a vulcan has been an interesting experience, the juxtaposition between his upright, composed nature in public and his possessive loving strength when they're alone, has been nothing short of magical the entire time. It never gets tiresome or fails to take her breath away when they come home after a long day of fleeting finger-touches and meaningful looks, only to be swept up in his arms and cradled close like he never wants to part from her physically again. But she gets the feeling that this is going to blow even that out of the water.  
  
When he finally calls for her, informing her that the plak tow will completely overtake him by the next day, she comes to him prepared. With a duffel bag of spare clothes (though she gets the feeling she's going to be spending much of this time naked) and a case of electrolyte-rich bottled water, her favorite deep-tissue muscle massager to use on herself between rounds with Spock when the tortured vulcan manages to find fitful sleep, a first aid kit and more, she's more than ready for the coming week. Entering his apartment, she finds that he's blacked out all the windows and sound proofed his apartment as much as possible, a fact which makes her shudder even to consider the implications of. His aparment is orderly as always, but there is evidence everywhere of his forethought. He's taken the time to fasten padding to the corners of every piece of furniture that has them, as though he's babyproofing for a toddler who has just started to walk. He's taken the time to hide away all of the dangerous utensils from the kitchen, and laid out several tidy little blanket nests on the floor, as though he's anticipating they'll be moving around often. Then again, he knows better than she what to expect.  
  
She calls his name and he appears, looking wilder than she's ever seen him, from the bedroom doorway. His hair is nothing of the groomed, straight-banged cut it usually is, messy and wild around his face. His shoulders and chest are already shiny with the fever sweat, flushed a dark, vivid green over his chest and face. He hadn't bothered with a shirt, he was too hot to tolerate it, and though he's always been the sort to wear shoes indoors, he's barefoot now; and in nothing but a pair of loose black sweats he crosses the living room in just a few strides. She barely has time to drop her bag off her shoulder before he's gathered her up against him, squeezing her up into his chest so tightly that her toes nearly lift off the ground.  
  
"Nyota..." he moans her name, burying his face in her neck.  
  
"I'm here," she promises, hands raising to cradle the back of his head. The tips of her fingers bury in his hair, and she returns the embrace as well as she can-- There's no world where her strength is comparable to Spock's, but she clings to her tip-toes and presses herself flush against him. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep, steadying breath. During her scheduled breaks from studying, she had busied herself looking up Vulcan customs, anything she could get her hands on. Comforts, food, adolescent games-- Anything she could possibly utilize to better prepare her for this moment. This would be one of the last moments of peace she would have for a week.  
  
She takes another breath, an incredible sense of calm filtering over her as concern outweighs anxiety and she pulls away, lips tracing a gentle path of kisses across his hairline-- "I'm ready," She promises him in what she feels will be his last few moments of relative rationality.  
  
"Not yet," he says, his voice rough and thick in his throat, even as he scoops her up into his arms and carries her around the back of the couch. The back cushions have been removed and laid out on the ground, doubling the width of the space as he curls around her. He doesn't bother with a blanket, and she doesn't need one he's so superheated. He folds himself around her back, just nuzzling and kissing her neck and shoulder, his hands roaming over her belly and chest and thighs-- anywhere he can get his hands on her.  
  
He knows he'll lose his sensibilities soon, he wants to relish these moments while he still has them.  
  
Scientists have long determined that nothing actually happens to a heart when experiencing love, but in that moment Uhura's entire chest cavity floods with warmth. Sinking back against him, she doesn't fight for even a moment as her hand comes up to cover his. Just as desperately as she clings to her, she clings back, not wanting him to believe for a minute that she was anything but 100% supportive. She doesn't say anything, not sure if there is anything to say, enjoying the silence while it lasted.  
  
He spends most of that night up and down, trying to hold onto his sanity for as long as he can, bouncing between busy work that he doesn't really need all his faculties for (cleaning, mostly) and extended cuddle sessions with Uhura in which he paws her body from top to bottom, nuzzles and smells her. He really does resemble an agitated animal, pacing around his apartment like a prowling lion, shaking his hands out whenever he finds himself clenching them too tightly.  
  
Shamefully, he presents her with a plug at some point in the night when he has enough clarity to remember he'd thought to prepare one, informing her that when the time comes, he won't be within his right mind enough to have the patience for preparation.  
  
He does everything in his power to maintain a grip on his good senses, as he and all vulcans are trained to do, but as the hours pass by with sporadic meditation just to delay the inevitable, that inexorable slip backwards into primal heat overtakes him, as it overtakes everyone in his species. He forgets his rationality and logic as need consumes him, and he crawls over Uhura's sleeping form on the bed somewhere in the deep, grey hours of morning.  
  
"Nyota," he moans her name again, slowly rousing her from sleep with hungry kisses to her neck and chest. "Please, please."  
  
Never one to take dedicated time off, Uhura had come to terms with accepting this week as the unproductive race it was bound to be, so her sleep was miraculously deep for once in her known career. Her eye had been heavy, her dreams serene darkness-- to the point that when she's roused, it's almost welcome--although the immediate heat engulfing her is not the best thing to wake up to.  
  
The first tickles of warmth seep into her belly, and Uhura's fingers raise to card through his hair, pulling his head away in an attempt to look seriously at him, hoping to catch his attention, "What do you need?" She asks softly, ducking her head to press a long, slow kiss to his temple, "Tell me."  
  
She finds his irises heavy and swollen, choking out the whites of his sclera almost completely, giving him a primal sort of appearance as he looks hazily down at her and he pleads again, "Please."  
  
These are the early stages, when he still has the decency to beg. They both know it won't last.  
  
"Try to use words, Spock, while you can," Uhura pushes, leaning closer to try and keep his eyes focused on her, as they kept fading in and out, focusing on the curve of her throat, or the swell of her bare breast under her oversized sleep shirt, "Focus. Tell me what you need."  
  
"I need you," Spock gruffs, partially thankful for her placing emphasis on him maintaining his composure for as long as he can, respecting his shame over this event in his biological clock-- and partially infuriated at her for what feels like senseless stalling. "I need you, please, please ashayam, Nyota I beg you--"  
  
He's almost sobbing as he paws at her hips, rucking her shirt up and pulling at her panties with greedy fingers, where he knows the plug preventing him from entering her immediately is taunting him.  
  
"Slowly," She agrees. It's not a judgement on his sensibilities or an attempt to dodge the inevitable, but rather hopefully a grounding technique. If she could establish early-on a base connection of face touching and eye contact, maybe she could exert some sense over him in his worser throes. Her hand falls to join his, hooking her finger in the elastic of her underwear and pulling them down before he rips them in his haste.  
  
They hit the ground and he gives a plaintive sort of whine as she bats his hand away in order to remove the plug herself, reminding him to look at her face while she does so, to force him to make instinctive connections between her and the pleasure she's about to give him. Anything she can to prevent the broken bones he's been so afraid he'll rend her with.  
  
Still, she can only delay the inevitable for so long. She's infinitely grateful for his foresight with the plug, because he really doesn't fuck around with foreplay at all. If not for that rigid latex and natural vulcan lubrication, it would have hurt going in.  
  
Spock gives a sound like a tortured animal as she yields to his cock, and he hunches over her with his face buried in her shoulder as instinct takes over in the form of deep, quick thrusts.  
  
Uhura's legs spread to give Spock room, his body crowding into hers, every nook and cranny filled with him. Her mouth is at his neck, his jaw; finally moving up with slow, wet kisses to his ear as he ruts into with a heavy, quick snap of his hips. Closing her eyes, she surrenders herself to him, body moving just to keep up, able to taste the salty musk of his sweat on her lips.  
  
The wet huff of Spock's breath tickles her ear, his mouth set at her throat and shoulder-- she can hear him grunting under his breath, low, deep huffs as he drives himself full-tilt inside of her with every thrust, driven by the urge to slack the fire in his veins over all else.  
  
The speed with which he cums takes her back to the earliest days of their relationship years ago, back when he was inexperienced and just a few minutes of fingering could send him over the edge prematurely-- but she supposes she really can't judge when he's in a heat cycle. She does, however, get the first sense of how incredibly messy this next week or so is going to get when Spock cums inside her and the sheer volume of it spills back out of her by the tablespoon.  
  
He's at least within his right mind enough still to know that he should reciprocate, but it's still shocking when she feels his mouth on her, as if he didn't just unload inside her. He isn't squeamish about it either, completely unbothered by the presence of his own seed inside her, spilling out of her and across his tongue as he eats her hungrily. Considering how much he's been fasting over the last week, he might _actually_ be hungry.  
  
The rush of one activity to another has Nyota's head spinning, the callous indifference of his cock such a wild different to the wet, warm drag of his tongue. Her eyes blink open, bleary and confused. On some level she was still trying to wake up, the rush to get her undressed and get him inside of her enough to distract her mind until it was over, but now?  
  
Her thighs shiver without her control, belly twitching with hitching breaths as Spock sucks at her clit and works her over, methodically claiming every little move that made her body twitch and her breath wheeze. He knew her nearly as well as he knew his arm, intimately aware of every little crevice that could get her to sing.  
  
It wasn't singing he was looking for though, and Uhura comes with a similar quickness that has her seeing stars behind her eyelids, startled and hypersensitive-- not that Spock seems to notice, nose burying itself against her as he sucks and licks at her. It takes an insistent, firm hand rooted in Spock's hair to pull him away, her own flushed face twisted into a look of serious demand-- "Water," She says, licking her lips and nodding over to the small pile of waters she's stocked nearby, should this very thing happen. She was going to make him drink after as many rounds as she could, even a little.  
  
She manages to coax half a bottle of water into him before the exhaustion takes him again and he curls up beside her. She's able to clean up once he's fallen into a fitful sleep, and re-inserts the plug just to be sure she'll bs prepared for him next time, and takes the care to wipe down the few spots of semen that had spilled out of her and over the bed before she curls up with him again.  
  
Morning comes and he's still asleep, so she untangles to go make breakfast in the hopes of convincing him to eat something before the fever claimed him again-- with no luck. She's still standing over the counter cutting up peppers and mushrooms for cheese omelets when he pads out of the bedroom, mussed and flushed and ravenous. She has just enough time to stick the knife in a drawer and push the cutting board out of the way before he wraps himself around her from behind.  
  
With one arm around her waist he tugs her back against him and buries his face in her neck to suck a mark there possessively, while his other hand cups her pussy from behind and works the plug out. He drops it into the sink with a heavy thud and tugs her up onto her tiptoes, her elbows braced on the counter as he enters her again, just as rough as before.  
  
She's nearly hefted onto the counter with Spock's first thrust, and she raises up onto her elbows in an attempt to not be thrust fully onto the counter. It hurts less this time, but it had only been a couple hours since their last tryst, and with his seed still inside of her she's more than slick enough for him, a thought punctuated by the wet slap of their skin as Spock lifts her knee like it's nothing and contorts her onto the counter, giving him more room to shuffle in close, driving his cock deeper inside of her and leaving Uhura's head to sag to the counter.  
  
The kitchen is filled with the sound of skin hitting skin, Spock's low, carnal grunting in tandem with Uhura's heavy, controlled breathing. Spock drapes himself across her back, glued skin-to-skin until he fills her to the brim and then some a second time, seed seeping between her thighs even as Spock goes rigid and unmoving, held in place by his orgasm.  
  
"Let me make you food," Uhura tries to rationalize, but Spock has drilled a couple things into his head, if nothing else, and one of them is to provide her pleasure whenever and however much he can. Eventually he'll become too consumed by the fire burning him alive, but while he still has a sentient bone in his body, he would prefer to use it-- so fingers replace cock, three of them, and Uhura's back arches as he twists and probes her ruined hole, eyes dark and expression serious as he braces a firm hand across the center of her back, trying to urge her flat onto the counter.  
  
Her eyes roll back as he drums his fingers into her. Years of practice has given him the skill to find and abuse her g-spot with deadly accuracy, and even addled with a blood fever, his aim is no less refined. She's left drooling on the counter as he takes her apart, his fingers making sloppy noises as they churn air through the seed dribbling obscenely from her fluttering pussy.  
  
She cums with a wail, and if not for the grip of Spock's hand on her back, she would have fallen to the floor as her legs give completely out from under her. She can only pray that the soundproofing Spock put up would be enough to spare people the sound of her bellowing from all the way down in her belly.  
  
But he isn't finished with her, in the time it took for her to cum, his arousal spiked the old fashioned way, and her ass makes contact with the counter before she even realizes she's being flipped around. His cock spears her a second time in as many minutes and he fucks her absolutely sloppy, both his arms wrapped around her and crushing her into his chest as he pounds their hips together.  
  
Initial plans to keep pace with Spock filter away as Uhura's hips begin to roll with languid intentionality. She doesn't care to meet his hips with hers with every strike, just enough to keep his chest from crushing her ribs in his drive to thrust deeper into her, to claim more and more of her. Uhura is trapped, pinned like a butterfly to a board, as he drives high inside of her and comes for the second time, the tacky jet mixing with the rest. Her toes twitch as every load runs more down her thigh-- She really was going to be a mess for a whole week.  
  
Spock withdraws, though not fully, mouthing at Uhura's shoulder as he breathes with ragged urgency, deep, heavy gasps of air leaving Spock between lingering kisses. Uhura, blessedly, had been too overstimulated throughout the last fuck to really have the ability to feel much of it at all, so she's able to recover well enough to slide her feet back to the floor.  
  
Her thighs shake as though she was a newborn deer, but she manages to drag herself-- Spock stubbornly attached and initially putting up a tantrum-like fight-- to the fridge. She has to get food in them, and water, and if he wasn't going to let up long enough for her to cook properly, then she'd have to make due with whatever she could convince him to eat. They'd managed to eat their way through half a pound of grapes, Uhura feeding herself, then Spock in turn, before she turns around to grab a water bottle and feels Spock's hands on her hips, palms stroking the curve of her ass as if it was something special.  
  
Uhura tries to stand, water bottle in hand, but Spock turns her around when presented with her front, apparently knowing what he wanted. Hands return to her ass and he continues to knead, staring fascinated at her, bent and half-in the fridge-- honestly, on her overheated skin it sort of felt amazing. She manages to pull away just long enough to keep him from literally fucking her inside the refrigerator, but the sofa is the next casualty of war instead, with her body bent in half over the arm, her hands braced on the cushions as he rails her from behind, those hands latched onto her ass the entire time.  
  
The days sort of blur together, with Uhura finding relief whenever she can, in the form of luxurious showers using more of Spock's washing products than is maybe really necessary, but all things considered she's pretty sure he'll forgive her for it. She pre-makes meals whenever she has the time while Spock is asleep, if she isn't catching naps herself, in between frantic fucks. Spock's energy and appetite seem to increase as the days carry on, and by day four at its peak, Uhura is really starting to understand why Spock had insisted that it might not be safe for her.  
  
Still, he hasn't broken a bone yet, even as he drills Uhura into the floor in the living room from behind, bent out over her and grinding her face into the ground with his grip on her shoulders. With her ass in the air, barely supported by her knees and her toes pointing skyward, it's all she can do just to take it.  
  
Just taking it had come to be the theme of Uhura's week-- and honestly? She wasn't complaining too much. Spock seemed to have an instinctual need to touch her despite how frenzied he got; even now, bent in half and claimed as he was, Spock's hand would occasionally dip down to stroke long, tender lines across her chest, fingers lingering at her breasts and the massively-oversensitive bud of her clit.  
  
When he comes, his hands slip just enough for Uhura to catch herself on the floor, shoulders aching with relief as her knees support her weight for the first time in a while. Spock follows her down, arms catching himself on either side of her head as he fucks her into the ground, face buried into the floor and muffling the wet, sobbing cries torn from Uhura's lips. His cock fills her again, his hips driving forward, body surging forward as he goes absolutely still-- he had grown determined to stuff her with as much seed as he could. Very determined.  
  
It made sense from a mating standpoint, but her stomach was growing tender, filled over and over again, faster than she could clean herself out. Leaning up, Uhura leans to grab her water, apart from Spock for only a moment before she's pulled back, the warm press of his body enveloping hers as he ruts into her hip. Uhura manages to take a long swig, gasping as she feels the ridged cleft of his cock grinding into the meat of her thigh.  
  
"Nyota," he sounds like he's begging. He'd warned her that at the plak tow's peak, his instinct would demand fulfillment every hour at least-- but he'd failed to mention that every time he would seek relief, it would come in the form of two or three rounds in a row.  
  
He tugs on her ankles and flips her over on the ground, and gives a possessive growl at the very slight bulge in her lower belly, where his mating imperative had encouraged him to grind deep enough to fill her womb almost directly. The pressure is uncomfortable, but she's found that it requires a concerted amount of time squatting in Spock's shower in order to clean out when it gets that high in her system, and with how his appetite has grown, she simly hasn't had the time to do so.  
  
But the bulge seems to drive him wild, seeing the obvious results of his efforts in a measurable way makes him feel even more carnal than before. It's been days since she's seen the whites of his eyes, and they only seem to spread farther as he observes the slight change in her anatomy, his instincts that demand breeding at least partially sated by what appears to be growth in her womb.  
  
Laid out on her back he takes her again, and he's different from before. Either he's getting tired too, or some of his emotions are cutting through the frantic instinct, because this can almost be described as lovemaking. Her pussy is sore and overstimulated by the rhythm is slower and more deliberate, and he holds her eye as he grinds her into the floor.  
  
She's been taken from behind so often that the change in venue is actually a welcome mix up, and the eye contact is better than she could have asked for. His eyes had been glassy for days, looking through her rather than at her, seeing bits and pieces of her but never the whole.  
  
Three fingers trailing down his cheek, Nyota holds him there, keeps his head up and captures his gaze. Everything aches, his cock driving deep inside of her and ravaging an already hypersensitive void, but as the world roars in her ears, she holds her focus on Spock. As he pounds her into the floor, Uhura finds herself surprised by the depth his cock his reaching, until each slap against her cunt reveals something heavier and thicker, pushing and just-nearly breaching her each time.  
  
"Spock--" Her voice is rough, callous with her own screams, grated with lack of water and sheer overuse. "Spock--" She tries again, louder, but she doesn't get an answer. His hands grab her under her ass, hefting her up, her back raising to accommodate. With one final, teeth-grit snarl, Spock presses the heavy girth of a knot into her, rendering Nyota silent, jaw slack in an unvoiced cry.  
  
Even _he_ seems taken off-guard by the knot as it swells and locks the two of them together. With his cockhead pressed to her cervix and held resolutely in place by the girth inflating just past her entrance, when he cums she feels it more keenly than before. With the peaking of his plak tow, it seems that a new symptom of the blood fever is starting, one that even he didn't expect. Unsurprising, given he spent his only previous pon farr fighting, and it was unlikely that vulcan fathers go into explicit detail with their sons about exactly what to expect when they're in heat.  
  
"Nyota--" he grits out in a startled shout. He sees her clench her teeth with a whine, and for just one moment the picture of her clutching her lower belly with a whimper of surprised discomfort, slick with sweat and exhausted, gets through to him and he lowers himself down on top of her with a strangled noise.  
  
"Sorry-- sorry--" he murmurs into the side of her neck, trembling with pleasure as her pussy flexes and flutters helplessly around anatomy it was not prepared to accept.  
  
"I've got you," she whispers back, tears in her eyes. "I'm right here, baby."  
  
Their days had largely been spent in one-sided conversation, Uhura trying to stimulate Spock into doing anything other than fucking, anything to keep his mind present to the reality, to his situation. Up until now, it had proven rather fruitless. Here, at the height of the week, Uhura wondered if it was because they were at the climax of the week, or because he'd been sated for the hour.  
  
Either way, she can feel his cock as it twitches and jerks inside of her, the burden of his load dizzying as he tries to focus on Spock's voice, tries to focus on him seemingly present-- Even if only a little, "Please--" She mutters, her voice dry, making Spock's head crane to hear her. Heat pools in her belly as the knot presses and nestles right into her g-spot, making her body jerk uncontrollably in time with his own, "I wanna come--" It was one of the few times she'd asked to be gotten off, her own body adapting to the treatment out of necessity or maybe because she had some more extensive kinks than she thought.  
  
His hand appears at her cunt, and with only a couple sweeping passes of his deft fingers, joined by her heavy grinding, Uhura comes, her entire body clamping down around his cock a second time. She tilts her head back to gasp for air, heavy eyelids slipping shut as pleasure consumes her, the roaring in her ears reaches an apex, and she _actually_ passes out.  
  
When she wakes up she's on the couch with Spock curled up behind her, in his first real sleep of the past few days, out absolutely cold. She takes the opportunity to slip out of his arms and into the shower, giving herself an extensive clean out as much as possible, pushing on her belly and bearing down until heavy rivers of semen pour out of her like upending a bottle of honey, running thick down her thighs and washing down the drain. She notices with a bit of humor that there's the faintest green tint to the fluid.  
  
Returning to the couch with her hair bound up in a tight bun, she find him still asleep, but she can tell just by looking at him that it won't be long, his cock already starting to make an appearance once more from his slit. He's been naked for days, just as she's been, but their nudity has been somewhat situational, scarcely registering in her addled mind. But with him peacefully asleep for the first time in hours and hours, she takes a moment just to look at him, to follow the lines of his body, the sinew of his muscles and fluffy, groomed hair on his chest and belly. He really is beautiful, she's sometimes taken aback by it.  
  
She situates herself over his cock as it stands to attention and he rouses with a pained whine, bleary black eyes staring up at her with love and desperation as he grabs her hips in order to grind up into her, but for once he's sleepy enough that he lets her take charge.  
  
Her hips move with enough speed and depth that she satisfies Spock's frenzied hunger, but she keeps the thrusts shallow so she can avoid that ache from forming as long as possible-- she knew it would be inevitable, but she would prefer to not deal with that much sheer mess any time soon. Palms splayed over the fair, green-tinged skin of his chest, Uhura's fingers are warm and grip him tight, even as she leans over him, deepening the strokes of his cock in the process.  
  
"Taluhk nash-veh k'dular," She whispers in his ear in broken, breathless vulcan, forehead tilting to lean onto his shoulder as he takes him, her body clutching and clamping down around him as she tries to milk him for what he was worth before he decides to take control, personally.  
  
He seems to want to reciprocate the kind words, but all he can do is wrap his arms around her and wail.  
  
Day five is by far the worst. It passes in a blur of moving limbs, and for the first time Uhura actually worries about the possibility of a broken bone. Spock is frenzied and starved for her, she can't pry away from him for a moment. She manages to drag him into the shower with her at one point, but even then it's just a quick fuck against the wall. He's relentless, and her consciousness fades in and out throughout the day, passing out while he fucks her, waking up to being fucked in a different position. She manages to drink water whenever she can take a moment to breathe, but even then his hands are on her, desperate and pleading.  
  
She doesn't get to eat again until day six, when he's calmed down enough to give her at least an hour between rounds. Her legs are sore, her cunt is in a constant throbbing state that she checks out with a hand mirror every few hours just to make sure everything is still in working order down there, and as she slams electrolyte drinks and granola bars, she can only thank the stars that Spock has yet to slip up and enter the wrong hole on accident.  
  
By day seven, part of her exhausted mind is trying to convince her that this is going to be the rest of her life, naked in a darkened apartment, having life and limb fucked clear out of her by a maniac of a vulcan who can't even speak in complete sentences. But by the time those thoughts are in her head begging her for attention, for mercy, Spock is slowing down, little by little. The time between rounds gets longer and longer, and she's able to catch real solid chunks of sleep and take the time to make real meals-- some of which she even manages to coax into Spock.  
  
On the final day, they're both exhausted, but the drive is still there. He wakes her up with a deep, languid fuck from behind, his arms wrapped around her waist as he grinds into her from behind and sobs in pleasure and exhaustion against her shoulder. He can't speak, his voice is hoarse and ruined and his mind too exhausted, but he pours his affection into wet, biting kisses over her neck and shoulder and curls his hand around to rub over her clit, something he hasn't had the wherewithal to do for days.  
  
Uhura's noises are little more than stuttering, breathless whimpers. There's no touch too gentle, too fleeting, every graze of skin or cloth or hair against any part of her enough to set every nerve ending on fire with pleasure so intense it causes physical pain. The gesture isn't ignored, and her hips reply in kind, raising to meet his hand and pressing flush back into his hips to sink onto him and draw another agonized groan from deep in Spock's chest.  
  
His hand is sloppy and uncoordinated, and while his intention is there, his follow through is not. Uhura's hole is soft and pliant at this point for him, well-used and tacky with his seed mixed with her own slick, so when Spock finally heaves one final thrust, seating himself inside her before pumping her full once more, she takes it with ease.  
  
The fuck is so sleepy, so downright _lazy_, that Spock falls asleep on top and inside of her, his body slowly giving out as his fever subsides. Uhura pulls out from under him, and its only then that she notices how absolutely _drenched_ in sweat Spock was. He'd been tacky all weekend, the kind of sweat that came from a physical heat, as if boiling alive. This sweat was different, back slick, body clammy. A fever, literally broken.  
  
She manages to wake him up to get him to drink water, and it surprises them both when his hand grabs the bottle from her grasp and upends it in his mouth, sucking down water willingly for the first time in days, as if he can finally understand he has needs. Relieved, she turns to bring him another bottle and manages to get a step or two away, but Spock notices she's distanced herself and doesn't care for the space between them, a thick, hazy fog of exhaustion in his brain.  
  
"Wait--" His voice is little more than a broken croak, and when she doesn't respond, a surge of Need grabs him by the throat. Stumbling forward, Spock grabs her arm and yanks, pulling her to his chest, twisting as her body dips in pain-- an action that only seems to make things worse as Uhura's knees go weak and she staggers, landing against his chest.  
  
He holds her there against him, unaware of the pain in her wrist as he kisses up her neck and shoulder with his other arm wrapped around her waist.  
  
"Nyota..." he murmurs, his hand still clamped around her wrist. Pain lances up her arm and she twists along with it to try and lessen the pressure, but already she can feel the damage has been done. Somehow she'd made it through the worst of the plak tow, only to be injured _now_.  
  
"Spock-" She whispers, her voice harsh simpering as she tries to lean away, but she's too weak, and the pain makes her dizzy. Was there a point to sedating him now? Would it matter come morning? Not wanting to risk his health, she instead commits to staying for the rest of their limited time together. She needed to make sure he would wake up come the morning, and spending the night in a hospital and leaving him alone didn't sound like a great idea.  
  
When he pulls away to look at her seriously, Uhura manages a tight, taut smile, and when his hand drifts to her ass to cradle her against him, she hyperfocuses on it instead, holding herself steady and trying very hard to emulate the serene mastery Spock has every other day of the year-- the last 8 nonwithstanding.  
  
For the rest of the day, her wrist aches with pain that takes her breath away. She's still able to move her hand and fingers, which is a good sign, but he's left a bruise across the tender skin of her inner wrist that only gets worse after the few times he catches her off guard and she has to support her weight on it. She's pretty sure it isn't broken, or she wouldn't be able to handle the agony whatsoever, but she knows _something_ is wrong with it.  
  
Still, she sticks it out as Spock ruts with her tiredly, the last dregs of his fever sticking with him until at last he falls asleep-- and when he remains asleep for six hours straight without so much as a whisper of the heat returning, she can tell they're finally at the end of the long, difficult journey. So with pain making her dizzy and nauseous, she manages to wake Spock up enough to wrestle a shirt and sweats on him, and discretely takes him down the elevator, holding the door-closed button shut the whole time so nobody sees him in a state like this. It helps that it's close to four in the morning, but she would do whatever it took to preserve Spock's dignity, even if it meant waiting it out with a potentially broken wrist.  
  
Driving one-handed to the hospital with Spock's head in her lap, they make quick work of taking him inside on a stretcher and admitting him to the ER for extreme dehydration, malnutrition and a myriad of other small problems that lead her to be questioned about his whereabouts for the past week-- and hers, for that matter, considering the state of her wrist. With the bruises and the general state of their health, and confirming the fact with an x-ray that she has a spiral fracture of all things, by the time Spock is admitted to a room in a heavy sleep hooked up to an IV, Nyota is awoken from her light doze in the armchair beside his bed to the sound of a radio chirping. She lifts her weary head to see two police officers in the room, and instantly her stomach sinks.  
  
"Hello, miss," one of the officers says, his voice kind, not that it does much for her nerves. "The hospital staff called us. Said you were dodging some questions, and you came in sick and injured with your sick friend?" he gestures to the bed with his chin. "They thought you might wanna make a statement on what might've happened to the two of you."  
  
Uhura barely has the brain cells to piece together what they're saying. It's exhaustion at this point, her wrist feeling loads better now that it had been set properly and stabilized with a soft cast. The pain medication they had given her hadn't been better, and the full-body throbbing she'd been feeling had dulled as she slept, though her heart lept into her chest at the officer's question finally settling into her brain.  
  
"Did they say we a danger to ourselves or others?" She asks, her voice sharp but quiet, so as not to disturb Spock's sleep, "I promise you, officers, we're not."  
  
"No, they were worried something bad might have happened to the both of you," the second officer says, stepping forward. He's younger than the first one, closer to Spock and Uhura's age himself. "They used the word _defensive_ when they asked you what happened. If you have a statement you'd like to make on anyone, even if it's on your friend, we're here to talk to you."  
  
It occurs to her that if they think this is some kind of stockholm situation where she's taken her kidnapper to the hospital, it'd technically be equally as likely for _her_ to have been the kidnapper, and yet they seem perfectly content to take their statement directly and only from her. Some things never change.  
  
Looking between the two of them, she shakes her head, "My wrist is injured, but _he's_ the one unconscious and hooked up to machines right now," She says, "Doesn't that give you a decent indicator that nothing happened?" It's a bold statement, and not really one that makes sense-- people don't just _Appear_ with extreme dehydration and malnutrition, it was something that took time to accrue. She hoped they didn't squint too hard at that one.  
  
"If you have no other questions....?" She's hoping her abrupt attitude will throw them off. The officers glance at one another. They don't look like they're buying it for a second.  
  
"We just have a few, if you'd like to join us in the hallway?" the older officer says. "We'll try to keep it brief."  
  
Her gut reaction is to demand they detain her to ask her questions. To be obstinate, out of pure survival instinct. But she was trying to reassure them that she wasn't shady, and it would be very hard to do that if she acted, well. Shady.  
  
So she stands with a low hiss of pain, overworked body fully protesting the motion as she glances one last time at Spock, then leads the officers out of the door, leaving it cracked open behind them a slightest bit to keep an ear out for him.  
  
"The doctors say that the two of you came in in quite a state," the younger officer murmurs, keeping his voice down so they don't wake anyone up at this hour. "Dehydrated, half starved, and you had more than a few bruises on you, not to mention your spiral fracture. Those happen only when your bone gets _twisted_, miss."  
  
"If that man in there or anyone else hurt you and you're too afraid to say something, you don't have to say anything yet," the older officer adds. "Just nod your head, and we'll get you somewhere safe where nobody can overhear you."  
  
Casting a glance at the cracked door, Uhura is quiet as she considers their questions. They're fair, of course. She would be skeptical of a girl in her state, too, nevermind how generally unfocused and exhausted she's sure she's coming across as... it was bound to create an awful first impression. No doubt the troubled expression she wears doesn't help their case either, so very quickly she forces herself to school it into something more neutral, struggling to straighten her posture.  
  
"I'm very sorry to inform you again, officers, that nothing happened. It was just...." she struggles to find a non-sketchy way of explaining what happened, "--an unfortunate circumstance that got carried away from us." Her tone is formal in a hopefully-comforting way, although it only sound practiced and sterile.  
  
"Maybe you'd like to give us a little more detail?" the younger officer asks. "What do you mean by an unfortunate circumstance? Can you tell us who twisted your arm?"  
  
"Please, Officers, it's a fairly.... sensitive, embarrassing matter," She mutters, trying to appeal to their chivalry, her voice low. "I don't want to press charges. I'm fine. He's fine. It's dealt with." Still not convincing, but what could she say? She couldn't lie and say a third party did this to them, which means they did it to each other, which means they assume he did it to her, which he _did_, but--  
  
Messy. This was messy. She would have to pack an extensive medical kit for next time, perhaps they could store the equipment permanently in some sort of closet. She could learn how to prepare an IV, surely.  
  
"We've heard it all, miss," the older officer says, ever patient. "If you'd just like to walk us through what happened?"  
  
The Pon Farr was a sacred ritual held in highest secrecy amongst Vulcan culture. Intimacy and affection was considered shameful. To expose Spock's heat would be possibly exposing all of Vulcan society to a massive security breach, nevermind devastate him, surely. So instead, Nyota Uhura looks down, swallows heavy around the knot in her throat, and plays the part of a "_Girl_."  
  
The fingers of her uninjured hand raise to fiddle nervously with the fabric of her cast, trying to make herself look as hesitant as possible; It wasn't fully fake, she was pretty decently nervous about the particular nuance it would take to pull this off. With a shaking, steadying sigh, she begins-- "I suppose the school year is what happened, Officer," She says, looking up at them both earnestly. "That man is my boyfriend, a professor, and I am a senior-year Cadet. As you can imagine, we don't get to see one another very often, and when we do, contact is...clinical, at best." She avoids looking at them, focusing on her story, quickly thinking of it as she goes.  
  
"Officers, I don't know if you're married, or have girlfriends or partners of your own... but we girls, we like to be touched, and when we don't get that for a prolonged amount of time it can get-- unbearable," She says, shrugging earnestly, "It had been-- God, _months_, since we'd been together. We finally got a chance to take some time off together and we lost track of time between meals, between drinks..." Her voice goes misty here, a little embarrassing so, but she keeps speaking as she puts up an emotional barrier between what she's saying and her own emotions.  
  
She looks up at them both, a flush across her cheeks, seemingly at the very memory of her last week, "Have you ever experienced that, Officers? Being so completely consumed by your partner? We didn't need food... we didn't need water. I had his body, and he had mine, and we were consumed by each other..." Nyota looks down at her cast, pointedly, "I don't remember my wrist breaking, Officers, but you know how strong vulcans are. I just don't remember it," Looking up at them again, she shakes her head, "I remember only his beautiful mouth, and his perfect hands... the taste of his sweat on his brow...."  
  
Uhura trails off, pretending to be distracted by Spock's raw animal magnetism, not that it was too much of a stretch.The officers eyes are both wide the next time she looks up at them, and they share a glance with one another. The older one seems very embarrassed, but the younger only seems amused.  
  
"Him?" the older one says, lowering his voice. "A_ vulcan?"_  
  
"You think they don't feel at all?" Uhura asks, lowering her own voice conspiratorially as she looks up at him, "They do feel. Quite strongly. And for _days_, I think, I felt just how deeply he missed me."  
  
The older one still doesn't seem like he buys it completely, but the younger grabs him by the sleeve and tugs. "I think that's about all we need to hear. Thank you for your cooperation, miss. If anything slipped your mind, you know the number."  
  
He barely manages to yank his partner down the hall, leaving an exhausted, embarrassed Uhura standing just outside the cracked door. At least this isn't the campus hospital, she thinks as she turns around to head back into the room. At least the likelihood of gossip making it back to school is slim to none.  
  
But her relief is short lived as she comes into the room to find Spock propped up on his elbows, his expression foggy and concerned as he squints at her in the dim light of the room. The first thing she notices is that his eyes are back to normal, and the second thing is that those normal eyes are focused directly on her cast.  
  
"We can discuss it when you're better," Uhura says, closing the door behind her with a pointed click and hoping to cut him off before he can even ask, though she's sure it will probably not stop him from asking, anyway. She sits heavily in her chair again. It was uncomfortable and awful, but she'd found some semblance of comfort in it, a hospital blanket going a long way for relief. She leans forward onto his bed, though, touching two fingers to his wrist, "What's important is we made it. Go back to sleep,"  
  
"Did I hear you outside talking to someone about..." he trails off, unable to say it, sounding a bit pained over the idea that she might have betrayed him by talking to someone in a hospital about what had happened in detail. The fact doesn't escape him that they're only in a hospital because of him, but he'd hoped that surely she would understand the necessity of keeping everything quiet, given what lengths Vulcans have gone to over the centuries to hide the subject of pon farr from humankind.  
  
"About our torrid love affair's agonizing hiatus due to my studies, and its effect on my voracious sexual appetite?" Uhura says promptly, sounding exhausted, her heart not even able to handle the pain in his voice, the notes of betrayal he couldn't even try to hide. He really thought she would say something? Taking a deep breath, Nyota closes her eyes and presses her hand to her eyebrow; she had to understand his hurt. She looks up at him, "I would never. You know that."  
  
He relaxes back against the pillows when she confirms that she hadn't told anyone about the pon farr, but not a second later after his head hits the pillow, his eyes snap open.  
  
"You told someone we had a torrid love affair? _Voracious sexual appetite_\-- **Nyota**," he sounds scandalized, exhausted, and maybe more than just a touch amused.  
  
"It was either that or they went on believing you kidnapped me," she says, "I suppose the nurses called the police when two people came in severely deficient and without explanation," Her fingers trace a figure eight into the back of his wrist, lingeringly, even as she laughs and leans against the mattress, "You should sleep," She reminds him, looking like she wished she could do the same.  
  
Spock scoots over in his bed and makes sure the IV cord won't get tangled over either of them before lifting the covers and beckoning her against his side. Frankly she doesn't have the energy to argue and so she crawls in beside him in the tiny cot, propped up on her hip with her cast tucked delicately between them and her head pillowed on his shoulder.  
  
He's silent for a moment, ducking his head to press his nose into her hair, before letting out a long, weary sigh. "I cannot apologize with enough sincerity for hurting you."  
  
"Spock," She mutters, not bothering to look up at him, her shut eyes now too firmly sealed by the soft raise and fall of his chest, the familiar, heavy musk of him-- as if she hadn't been smelling like him for a week now, "You purchased enough tranquilizer to put down a _herd_ of zebra. I had to use none of it. The fact you broke my wrist on the last day is just-- a poor coincidence,"  
  
Spock's brow furrows at the word _broke_, unable to codify it along with the rest of the blurry, hazy memories he has of the past week.  
  
"Nevertheless, you deserved better," he says, nuzzling his nose against her hair. "I will be better prepared for my next pon farr, now that we have a sense of what occurs in its duration." The thought that they might not even still be together seven years from now doesn't seem to occur to him, a fact which makes Nyota's chest feel warm and tight.  
  
"Glad to hear it, I've been thinking of ways to prepare better next time as well," Uhura says, unable to stop the note of pleasure in her voice at their similar mindset. Spock's fear of her rejecting him after the week wholly unbased, Uhura lays on her side and fits herself into those small little crevices where only she can fit, legs tangling, hip slotted against painful hip. "I already know we'll be able to skip this step next year, to avoid questions like that one."  
  
"We will... discuss it when we are both rested," Spock murmurs, already drifting off. He has so much he wants to say, so much he wants to apologize for and thank her for, but he can't seem to get his brain to stay online, and so he gives in to the gentle, tugging fuzz of sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for abortion in this chapter

  
Spock and Uhura don't discuss the pon farr, but that isn't really due to lack of desire, but more like they have other pressing matters to attend to after they're well rested. They have to check out of the hospital and make it back to Spock's apartment, where the tedious task of cleaning must be undertaken. Spock insists Uhura allow him to do it by himself, citing his participation as fault-- Nyota tries helping clean despite her arm, and Spock finds her trying to lift a heavy duvet and gives her very firm instructions to either sit and simply keep him company, or go home and recuperate.   
  
Unable to justify sitting and watching her boyfriend clean up their shared mess, she chooses to go home, and in doing so recieves the first of many odd, cordial formalities. She lingers by the door, waiting for Spock to notice, but when he does he simply pulls her close to his chest and kisses her forehead, fingers holding her by the shoulders delicately, as though she could break in any moment, and he waits with her until the car he called on her behalf arrives, watching her until her tail lights disappear, and he's left in a mess he'd made.  
  
There's a change in their relationship that both of them notice, but neither of them admit. After all, the love is still there, as is the dedication. The companionship and the respect, all present-- however, lingering kisses across cheeks have been replaced by prolonged looks and the curl of two fingers around the other's, fleeting touches evaporating altogether. It makes sense, both parties lament about the other in private, Pon Farr was an ordeal. They should have their space.  
  
And so both of them give each other their space, despite the growing tension that builds to slow, steady agony. It's a week at first, easy to manage-- but then two slip by, a month. A month and a half pass, and while their affection is shown in those same lingering touches and concerted pauses, it doesn't feel enough for either party, the time moving slowly between them. It seems like a step in the right direction, then, when Uhura messages him after classes out of the blue, "Dinner in?" Her message reads. She hadn't been back to Spock's apartment since the week had happened, but surely inviting herself to his apartment was a positive sign.  
  
Truthfully, "positive sign" doesn't even come close to describing the way Spock feels when he sees that message from Nyota. He'd been painstakingly letting her have room to stretch out after the taxing pon farr had taken it out of both of them. They'd had a healthy sex life before then, which has dropped off into nothing ever since-- and out of respect for her, he doesn't push, no matter how badly he misses being close to her. He imagines that she's had quite enough of sex for quite a while, and he's prepared to wait however long it takes.   
  
But six weeks is a very long time to not make love to the love of his life. It isn't as though they've suddenly become mormon, they still curl up together on the couch to read together, with her laying back against his chest between his legs sharing the same book-- they still share meals and occasionally shower together. Their relationship is still mentally, emotionally and intimately fulfilling, the only thing missing is sex. But honestly, Spock thinks that if they never have sex again until the next pon farr, he'd still be happy with her-- and that's all that matters.   
  
Regardless, he's over the moon that she wants to come by again, and he prepares accordingly. It's only when she's at the door that he wonders if he should have gotten candles. There is some romantic significance to candles for humans, but it's too late to do anything about it now. He lets her in and takes her coat and kisses her cheek, and seems almost nervous, if vulcans could get nervous.   
  
"I hope you do not mind, I opted for thai," he says, gesturing to the take out he'd accquired for them, sitting in hotplates on the counter.   
  
"My favorite? How could I mind?" Uhura chides, playfully, the telltale quirk of a smile on her lips as she fixes him with a soft, appreciative look. She casts a sweeping glance throughout the apartment that seems so strange after such concentrated time both within it and away from. Her fingers graze across his chest as she walks past him into the room, her injured arm tucked behind her back.  
  
The food smells amazing, and it's no wonder. Spock had grown intimately familiar with her selection of favorite take out spots, and had especially grown to know that the noodles at Moon 52 Cafe were her absolute favorite. It's the box marked as such that Uhura stops at, lips twitching into fond, private little smile-- the amount of care that had gone into this one gesture alone made her heart swell, and she wishes now more than ever that she could touch him.   
  
"I have a surprise for you," she says, standing just across the kitchen from the larger man, her tone almost, miraculously, shy?  
  
He turns to her after finishing dishing out their dinner on their respective plates, his brow furrowed slightly. Setting the plates down on either side of his modest kitchen table he asks, "What is the occasion?"  
  
With what might be the most lackluster reveal ever, she pulls her arm out from behind her back, displaying her freshly healed arm, sans cast, "Look what I got done today," she teases, smiling mischievously.  
  
His eyes widen slightly, and one corner of his mouth quirks up. "You did not inform me before going? I could have accompanied you. Did you drive yourself? Your doctor told you that you are not supposed to be driving with the cast."  
  
"I was worried it would ruin the surprise if I had you bring me," She teases, sitting at her chair. A breath of fresh air is taken, as if the awkward silence of the dinner was broken with the announcement, "It wasn't very far. You know I'm capable."  
  
He gives her a reproachful, if amused look as he sits across from her. "Your capability is not in question, rather your judgement," he says, not unkindly as he reaches across the small table to touch her wrist. "I am however, grateful to see this part of your skin again. I have missed it, specifically."  
  
"You'll have to explain your favoritism, in that case," Uhura says, her fingers drifting across his outstretched palm, "I'll be happy to return to training as usual," Uhura admits, "The physical may be remedial, but I have a feeling the longer I am out of commission, the worse it'll be," She admits, taking up a pair of chopsticks and beginning to sort out her food, though not taking a bite. Weird, considering how excited she said she was for the meal.  
  
He watches her for a moment, affection plain in his eyes, but as their banter cools into comfortable silence, he notices her smile fall into an almost pensive expression.  
  
"Something is the matter," he announces, rather than asks, in that vulcan way he always does. Hiding things from him is impossible, she's found over the years-- and while it can on occasion be frustrating to be called out on things she might have preferred to stay silent on, the open communication has kept their relationship remarkably healthy. Not that she intended to stay silent about the topic of conversation she had to bring up tonight, anyway.  
  
"It is," She agrees. It's a relief to have him bring it up, ultimately, cut-to-the-quick style of communication very much her favorite method, although human sociology demands a bunch of preamble. She's just grateful Spock doesn't lend it much credence.   
  
For a distracting moment, Uhura continues to play with her food, until frustration with herself finally makes her set her chopsticks down, "I got other news, at the hospital," she explains, lacing her fingers together and peering at Spock over her fingers to stop herself from fidgeting. It was embarrassing this one topic had her so.... _antsy_. "I'm pregnant," She says, ripping the news away like a bandaid. "They performed an ultrasound to confirm."  
  
Spock inclines his head just once, before nodding, also just once. "We did consider that as a potential hazard of the pon farr," he says evenly. "If memory serves, we spoke very briefly on the matter, but you suggested that we should cross the bridge if we came to it. Seeing as we are now at that bridge, perhaps we should discuss options. As it is your body, the decision is yours ultimately, and I will offer option and insight only if solicited. How would you like to proceed?"  
  
There's a thoughtful pause as Uhura considers the answer to that question, "I... would prefer to speak plainly, if I may?" She asks, although she already knows the answer. Spock would never turn down an opportunity to be plainly spoken to.  
  
"I encourage it," he says, reaching across the table palm-up, offering her his hand if she needs his physical support.  
  
Her heart aches at the gesture, touched for the second time by this man she was so fortune to consider hers. After a moment she takes his hand, dwarfed in his palm as her hand was-- "It isn't the right time," she says, looking Spock in the eye. "I graduate in a few months, and I will be assigned after that. If I have a child, my life would be owed to caring for that child, and... I can't, as it stands," Uhura explains, squeezing his fingers with hers.  
  
"I _want_ children-- _your_ children-- but only when I've lived a life I'm proud of. Mine has barely begun," she sighs, ducking her head, "If you have an opinion, I would like to hear it."  
  
"My opinion is in accordance with yours," he says. "Years ago, before we began our relationship we discussed the inevitability of having children together, and my opinion has not changed in that matter. I want one day to be a father, to be... perhaps a better one than mine was," he says it like he's ashamed to admit his father had been anything less than ideal. "But the time is inopportune. You are approaching graduation, as you said, and with the flagship so close to completion, and with an 87% chance that Captain Pike will request me as his First Officer, I intend to put forth your name among the crew roster of the Enterprise. Our documented relationship would make your station aboard the Federation flagship almost certain, and as an exploration vessel rather than a civilian ship, there will be no children allowed on board. This means there are only three options if you choose to carry to term-- either you give up your starfleet career in order to raise the child, and you are separated from me, we _both_ terminate our careers with starfleet in order to raise the child, or you carry the child and after birth, we either leave it in the hands to be raised by someone else, or put it up for adoption completely. However, to carry a child to term is not a frivolous undertaking, as I am sure I do not need to tell _you_."  
  
He finally pauses to take a breath, and squeezes her hand. "Whatever you choose to do, I will support you."  
  
"I think we're in agreement," Uhura says, smiling over at him, glad for the umteenth time that Spock was who he was, and she could have conversations with him like this. It was about what made sense, always-- and it didn't make sense for her to carry a child when they didn't want it, couldn't care for it, and weren't even available to carry it, "I can't imagine carrying a child to term and giving it to someone else to care for, temporarily or permanently."  
  
Pulling her hand away, she picks up her chop sticks, the weight of that decision physically lifting off of her shoulders and finally allowing her to take a bite-- and when she does, it's voracious, "I'll make an appointment as soon as possible to get it taken care of," she goes on, "Hopefully by the end of the week my symptoms will start to lessen and I'll be able to complete my finals without the distraction. I really thought--well," She glances over at Spock pointedly, "Your people really know what they're doing, clearly."  
  
Spock can't help but smile, something he does more often when it's just the two of them. "It is called the mating season for a reason, yes," he says, but his glibness quickly fades. "I would like to be there, if you would allow me. I do not think you should have to go through the process of terminating alone."  
  
"From what I hear, it's relatively noninvasive. My aunt used to tell me stories about terminating, and it sounded awful, but after being told what's involved it's not quite as bad as people say," Uhura explains, as if it would have any bearing on Spock's decision to be there, and she continues without pause, "It would be nice to have you there, nonetheless."  
  
"Let me know as soon as you have made the appointment and I will see to it that my schedule is cleared for the appropriate time," Spock says, and picks up his own chopsticks again. It seems that marks the end of the discussion on this matter, and why shouldn't it? They talked about it, came to the same conclusion, and made an action plan together.   
  
It isn't that Nyota is _looking_ for more, but some part of her feels as if maybe she should have _expected_ more. That she was _supposed_ to want Spock to fall to his knees and beg her to have his child. There is no doubt in her mind that logically she prefers this alternative, but some ingrained part of her can't help but wonder if she's not supposed to react in some other way.   
  
She dismisses it as ingrained human bias, the exact sort of thing they train out of you at the Academy. Human morality isn't the same as cultures across the galaxies, and so she can't expect anything less from Spock than what he's always given her: frank honesty and unwavering support and trust.   
  
Fortunately, the campus portal allows her to make off-site appointments online using her school-issued medical insurance, and late that night she texts Spock the time of her appointment and the address to the clinic, although when he greets her at the entrance to the student parking lot, she shouldn't be surprised, and he holds the door open for their ride share before helping himself to the wheel.  
  
The ride is a bit quiet-- Spock brought food, another thing he anticipated Uhura overlooking, and she's relegated to surprised appreciation as he sternly tells her to finish her food, leaving no room for argument or discussion. So she does, eating quietly on the drive to the clinic until he pulls into a spot, uninterrupted.  
  
"You can wait in the car, if you'd prefer," Uhura offers Spock, her voice serious, "I will appreciate your thoughtfulness just as much either way."  
  
"I will stay in the car if that is what you wish," Spock says, his hands still on the wheel. "If for any reason you would prefer to be alone, simply let me know, and I will remain, harboring no ill feelings for your decision. However, if you are leaving the choice up to me, I would much prefer to be inside with you and attend the appointment in its entirety."  
  
Uhura looks at Spock with a fond expression before she turns to tug on the door handle and get out, "Come on," She mutters softly with a click of her tongue, obviously trying to school her expression into something more neutral than the look of adoration she was wearing now-- something more somber for the occasion, maybe.  
  
Their appointment goes off without a hitch, for the most part. The technician gives Spock a few judgemental side-eyes, but she's decent enough to at least not vocalize any of her thoughts as she tends to Nyota. Spock resolutely stands at her side, with his two finegrs hooked around Nyota's the entire time.   
  
By the time they're back in the car and driving home, Nyota can't help but feel... different. She doesn't feel bad or good, just different.   
  
The drive home is quiet, but not unpleasantly so. Spock gives her the space to think things over as they return to his apartment. He doesn't speak as they head up the elevator, or unlock the door, or take off their shoes. He doesn't speak as they wind around the couch, or as he sits down and tugs Nyota down to sit sideways on his lap, curled against his chest. He links his hands together around her hips and buries his nose in her hair, and still he doesn't speak. If she needs him to say anything, he will say it but if she needs his silence, he gives it.  
  
For a while, she doesn't care to break the silence. Her brain is a jumble of thoughts, conflicting emotions that she struggles to fully make sense of.   
  
In truth, she _doesn't_ feel bad. There was no life lost, just a cluster of cells she would have otherwise never noticed passing through natural means. They had chosen their future; both of them had. A future worth bringing a child into, a future worth creating and sharing so their family-- when they choose to start one-- can be as happy and fulfilled as they want from the very beginning. It spoke volumes of their relationship that they could have such frank, honest conversations with one another and reach an amicable understanding.   
  
But then why had the woman at the clinic been so short with Spock?  
  
"I can see why people tend to go to those appointments alone," She admits finally, after what feels like eons of silence. But she needs to break it somehow, has been desperate to for hours now. She wants to talk to Spock like her boyfriend again. She wants to kiss him and be held by him. If they can't kiss or be intimate, at least she wants to hear his voice.  
  
"If you are referring to the way the technician reacted to my presence, I assure you my feelings are uninjured," Spock says softly, rubbing his thumb over Uhura's hip. "We are likely never going to see or interact with her again. Her opinion bears little relevance over our lives."  
  
"No," She says finally, shifting in his lap to sit up. She doesn't leave the crook of his arm, rather leaning into the curve of his elbow instead of back against his chest. She wants to be able to see him, but when she does, her brows knit together, "Maybe that's part of it?" She adds, sounding conflicted as she frowns and lapses again into silence.  
  
Words are her bread and butter, to be without them for so long feels unbearable, so she tries them again-- "I expected judgement of some form. But it's-- odd, after. I'd like to continue our life as though nothing happened, but it feels... disrespectful."  
  
"Disrespectful to whom?" Spock prompts, hoping to keep her talking so she can sort through her feelings.  
  
The question makes her pause, but it's a good one; one she'd been asking herself all morning.  
  
"The experience, maybe. It feels like I should pay more homage to the women who weren't as fortunate as I was in the same situation," She explains, her words carefully chosen after another second of quiet. "I'm fortunate in my circumstance. Incredibly fortunate. I have you," Uhura continues, and on instinct her hand finds its way to his chest, her nail tracing along a button on his shirt before she pulls away, remembering to try and give him space despite how obvious it was that she craved it, "Or maybe it's the archaic notion that I should mourn a life lost," She adds, "But even then..."   
  
Turning her face up to Spock, Uhura looks confused, not an expression that often graces her face, "Am I terribly awful for not feeling guilt? Should we?"  
  
"We came to this conclusion through logic, and it was not a decision made lightly," Spock says, reaching up to cup her face and run his thumb over her jaw. "I do not believe it reflects upon your moral character to not feel guilt over a unanimous decision. I believe it sheds light on the human condition, however, that you feel as though you ought to."  
  
Eyes closing, Uhura leans into Spock's palm, her hand raising to curl around his wrist, the pad of her thumb stroking across the steady, thrumming pulse point, "You're not wrong," She agrees, her voice sounding distant, "I wanted to get this over with so I could continue living my life, and now I feel guilty for doing just that," her eyes open, and she fixes Spock with a self-deprecating little smile twisting on her lips, "Humanity is exhausting."  
  
"I do not disagree with your assessment," he says, lowering his face to nuzzle against her shoulder. "What do you need? You need only ask and I will give it freely."  
  
Uhura's chest blooms with warmth under his face, stomach tightening as she takes a measured, steadying breath, "I don't want to cause you discomfort," She murmurs, her voice soft.  
  
"Me?" Spock leans back in order to catch her eye. "Why do you believe you are capable of causing me to feel discomfort?"  
  
Regret replaces insecurity, and she chastizes herself for even letting that much slip, pointedly looking away from him despite his repeated attempts to catch her gaze. She wants to tell him to forget it, to brush it off-- but how would that be fair? The least she could do was address it honestly, to avoid confusion. "Your Pon Farr. We haven't spoken much about it since-- of course I understand why, but I've been avoiding pushing certain things because I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."  
  
Spock is silent for a moment considering this, and then he smiles very slightly. "I have also been avoiding intimacy for the same reason. I had intended to allow you to come to your own conclusions on the matter of our continued sexual relationship, following such a... harrowing experience. I had assumed your lack of proximity was a signal that you still required space."  
  
Uhura cannot believe what he says for a moment, looking at Spock with surprise, "I assumed you wouldn't be keen on intimacy after... so much," She says, shaking her head, "I was keeping my distance so you didn't feel the need to placate me. Some of the other species at the academy say that humans can be... insatiable, and I didn't want to give you that impression."  
  
"As it happens, when it comes to you, I too find myself insatiable," Spock smiles, tucking his nose against her ear. "I apologize for the fact that this subject is only coming to light now, of all times. I see now that I should have broached the subject sooner. You have my apologies if I made you feel at all unwanted or undesirable."  
  
"I also could have mentioned it earlier. You don't get all the credit for our mutual sensitivity." Of course, they would both make a situation worse on themselves by trying to be better for the other. Ridiculous, they were ridiculous. "After I was healed from the initial injuries, I was alright. In fact, after such an intense week, its been rather... lonely, without you," She admits, looking away.  
  
"If you are requesting intimacy, I would be relieved to oblige," Spock says with the smallest of smiles. "However, given the nature of this afternoon's situation, I would be understanding if you would prefer to postpone for any reason."  
  
"I wouldn't," She says, and leans up to capture Spock's lips with hers for the first time in a very long time, eyes slipping shut. She wanted to waste no more time on mourning something she never even felt to begin with.  
  
As Spock leans out over her on the couch and rucks her shirt up and off her shoulders, she finds herself daydreaming about what it'll be like to have a family with him _properly_ someday, and as he claims her for the first time in over a month, tenderly kissing her newly healed wrist, their minds link up from his fingertips and he feels the same. 


	10. Chapter 10

The memorial service for Vulcan was incredible, in no uncertain terms. The absolute magnitude to which humanity came through in order to honor their fallen allies of the past couple of centuries was nothing short of miraculous to behold. There was no proper way to honor six billion lives individually, but a massive asteroid sculpted into towering, impressive spires were raised in Starfleet's capitol, observed by some two million people ushering into the city to pay their respects.   
  
When night fell, they shut off all the lights in the city square and allowed the obsidian spires to be lit only by the millions of candles that had been placed around the base, clustered together so thickly that nobody could approach the dais within a hundred feet in any direction, lest they risk stepping on a candle or a flower or a handmade card or a toy left behind by children who didn't know how else to mourn.   
  
But in all the six billion lives lost that were represented that night, there was one that was not.   
  
Spock hadn't come to his and Nyota's temporary lodgings that night, and though it worried her, she understood his need for space. She knew he would come around-- and come around he does. He invites her to a very small ceremony for his mother, on the other side of the country. There had been no body to recover, but an empty casket would be lowered into the ground in her honor, with only four people in attendance, he had said.   
  
She arrives by shuttle to find just three vulcans standing by the grave to wait for her, and as she walks up the line to meet them, she notes that the graves along the way all have the same last name-- Grayson.   
  
"Nyota," Spock turns to her, and she takes in the sight of two older vulcan men, all three of them wearing mourning robes in black. He offers his two fingers out to her and she takes them as she steps up to the grave to join the small ceremony. She recognizes one of the older men as Sarek, Spock's father and the one who hadn't approved of her, but the other one is a mystery to her. "I am grateful you could be here."  
  
"Of course, Spock, Sarek," Uhura's voice is warm as she regards her boyfriend, keeping a careful, respectful distance between herself and the other two Vulcan men, not entirely sure how much distance they keep from women in their society-- especially human women, who had an insidiously propagated reputation of being... a lot.  
  
Taking her place beside Spock, her gaze lingers on Sarek the longest, knowing his immediate relationship to Spock. The question is the man who looks even older than his father. A grandfather, perhaps? "I only heard incredible things about your wife," She says respectfully to Sarek, voice gentle, "She seemed like a very kind, generous woman." She says, glancing again at the other man before looking away, not sure what to even say to him without sounding like a jerk.  
  
"She was," Sarek says, staring down at the empty casket with wounded, heavy eyes. Nyota can tell where Spock gets his puppy eyes from just by looking at his father. The identity of the other man is a mystery to her, but it doesn't feel like the appropriate time to introduce herself.   
  
The ceremony is brief but meaningful. Spock had insisted that they mourn the human way, given Amanda's heritage, and as they lay her empty casket to rest at the end of the long line of her progenitors, Sarek has to excuse himself first. He thanks Nyota sincerely for attending, and even reaches out to gently touch her shoulder, a gesture of which the gravity is far from lost on her, and he takes the long walk back across the green, leaving her standing with Spock, and the older vulcan.   
  
"I wish you could have known her," Spock says softly, staring down at the hole, which will be filled later. He takes a knee and grinds his hand into the dirt, picking up a handful and scattering it out over the empty coffin. He can't bring himself to stand again and remains kneeling at the edge of the hole, staring down at the casket with heavy eyes as he sits on his feet. "She would have loved you."  
  
Uhura's heart aches for Spock, remorse gathering in her chest. They had company, the strange Vulcan she knew nothing about and couldn't even recognize, but she couldn't stop herself from leaning forward to comfort Spock at her knee. A few fingers dip to curl through his hair, nails scratching at the scalp as she does her best to press flush against his side, "I feel like I did know her," She says, her voice kind, "Through you, I knew her-- and I think she would have liked me, too."  
  
In fact, her voice was barely distinguishable from a mutter, an attempt to keep it low to preserve Spock's honor in front of another male Vulcan. Of course she wanted nothing more than to fall on her knees beside Spock and wrap her arms around him; but that wasn't Vulcan, and now more than ever, with so few left...  
  
There was a dangerous note of guilt that churned in her stomach at that, a guilty conscience she'd been beating back since Vulcan had been destroyed, "We can talk once we get home," She assures him, softly. It was an attempt to comfort and reassure him; It was okay if he acted Vulcan right now if he had to. She knew how rigid their customs were.  
  
Spock doesn't try to hide the fact that he's crying, tears rolling down his cheeks. He takes a few gasping breaths and shakes his head. "No. I do not want to leave this place yet. I would prefer to speak here."  
  
The older vulcan doesn't say anything about Spock's tears, for which Nyota is immeasurably grateful, but he does watch them curiously, wordlessly.   
  
There's nothing she wants more than to comfort Spock in that moment, and eventually humanity gives out to will and she drops to her knees beside him, curling her arms around his shoulders and pulling him against her chest, "I'm sorry," she mutters, her voice heartbroken as she stares down at what they know is an empty casket. It hurts just to know, her arms tightening around Spock until they ache, tucking her nose into his temple and kissing him there.  
  
He grips her arm, hard enough that it almost hurts, and turns his face to bury it against her shoulder. "It is not fair," he says, a most illogical statement, he knows. He can't bring himself to moderate his logic or the tone of his voice, right now. "I am still so angry. I don't know how to live in a universe without Vulcan."  
  
“It isn’t. None of what happened with the Romulans was fair,” She assures him, leaning away and still trying to be careful about her words, lest the older Vulcan still be paying as much attention to them as he seemed to be, before; “Your people still exist,” Barely, She doesn’t bother adding, but they exist. “Vulcan exists where they are, now. I’m sure Starfleet is already looking for an acceptable planet to colonize.”  
  
"They are," Spock sniffs, mopping at his face with both hands. "A colony is already being formed... in time we will grow again. Vulcans from all over the universe are being called back to assist in the repopulation efforts... there is so much knowledge that was lost. So much culture. I feel... inadequate, to be one of the ones who survived when so many others died."  
  
Sinking further back onto her knees, Uhura draws Spock tight against her chest, her other hand dipping down to wipe tears from his cheeks, lips finding his forehead, "You saved a lot of lives on Vulcan," She reminds him, voice soft as she tucks her face into the side of his own, holding him tightly even as her own heart sinks, "Vulcan was lucky to have you. They're _still_ lucky to have you."  
  
"Vulcan never had me," Spock argues with some disdain in his voice. "I spent all my life rebelling and fighting the culture in insidious ways, upsetting my father, sometimes intentionally. Getting into fights and battling my superiors at nearly every opportunity. And yet now that it is gone, I find myself regretting that I had not truly respected it while it lasted."  
  
"What you did as a child hardly invalidates who you are as a man, Spock," Uhura insists, voice hard, "You don't have to agree with everything your home stands for to claim it as your home. You are a Vulcan. Your own kind, maybe, but a Vulcan nonethless, and they're better for having you." Her tone leaves no room for argument.  
  
His instinct is to argue with her, but he can't tell to what ends-- and so he doesn't try. He wants to insist that he isn't a good Vulcan, that someone else deserved to survive in his place, but he doesn't say anything. He just grips her arms around him, his shoulders hitching.   
  
"Whenever I think of how few of us there are left, I am struck with this _sensation_ in my chest," he says, tapping his solar plexus. "What is that?"  
  
"Logic would say survivor's guilt," Uhura reminds him, gently. It was a very real phenomena, one discussed in those occasional Starfleet Trainings where the mood goes somber and the reality of their world is reminded to be more than whizzing through space and saving lives. Cautiously, she looks up to the other Vulcan, leaning her head down so her mouth was at his ear, "We still have company," She reminds, not wanting him to get too caught up in the moment, only to feel worse, later.  
  
"I know," Spock says softly. "Whatever you can say to me can be said in front of him, I swear it. He is... understanding. More understanding than anyone else could possibly be."  
  
She chances a look back at the older man, nodding at him once before leaning back on her heels.   
  
Spock says the older man could be trusted, and so she relaxes, just a little, going quiet as she thinks through what she wants to say next, "I might have another explanation, though, if... you don't think it's Survivor's Guilt," She adds reluctantly, sounding like she barely wanted to say it at all.  
  
He gives her a weary look, inspecting her expression. "It sounds as though there is something you want to talk about," he prompts, his voice croaking and exhausted.   
  
Backed into a corner of her own creation, Uhura looks at Spock hopelessly for a long time, as if waiting for him to telepathically pluck the thought from her head. That's not how it works, though-- not right now, anyway. It's her turn to look away, clenching her jaw then unclenching, fighting back the guilty nausea from trying to creep back when she'd been fighting it since he had enough time to feel.   
  
"Should we have kept our child?" She asks finally, her voice firm, but words spoken quietly, shame apparent in every note of those six words.  
  
Spock's brow furrows when she says those words, confusion leaking into his expression. It's clear he hadn't even thought about it-- and it's true. He'd put very little thought into the termination Nyota underwent six months ago since it happened. There had been so much else to focus on, he simply hadn't thought about the event.   
  
"I do not understand your meaning," he says. "Our decision was logical, one of mutual understanding of our stations and future together."  
  
"Grief makes people regret things they can't control," Uhura explains frowning, "What was logical at the time comes back as remorse we didn't even know we had," She pauses, taking a second to form her thoughts again. "With so few Vulcans left, it wouldn't be unnatural to feel like the choice we made.... squandered a potential Vulcan life, and to feel guilt over that decision."  
  
Spock grips her hand as he listens, that furrow still present in his brow. "If you do not mind me saying so," he murmurs. "It sounds as though this is something you feel. Am I correct in this assessment?"  
  
She opens her mouth to protest, immediately-- and then she shuts it again. "It's a thought I've had," She admits, her voice tense.  
  
Spock rubs his thumb over the back of her knuckles, and presses a kiss to her forehead. "You made no mistakes, Nyota. Neither of us did. Our decision was logical at the time and it remains such to this day. We would not have been able to save the number of Vulcans that we did without your assistance. If it wasn't for you on the bridge, confirming Kirk's postulation that the Romulans were leading us into a trap, Pike likely would have allowed me to throw him off the bridge, and we never would have been able to save even the vulcans we did. You would not have been on the bridge if you were still pregnant."  
  
"If my contribution to the Vulcan's survival is enough to assuage my guilt, then yours must be, too," She says, her voice firm as she meets his eye and holds it. She looks heartbroken still, and she is; the death of an entire race isn't something taken lightly by anyone, but this hurt was... massive. "That is my point. You can't keep feeling guilt over something you couldn't have prevented. Maybe if all of Starfleet was out there, we could have prevented this, but they weren't. It was just us, and we did everything we could. You especially."  
  
He hangs his head and looks back down into the grave with a soft, bittersweet smile. "It seems as though you have tricked me into talking myself out of my own reasons for my guilt," he says, and then turns that tired smile back to her. "How is it you have become so masterful at this craft?"  
  
"I talk a lot," Uhura says, returning his sad smile with one of her own, leaning forward to curl against him again. Arms twine around his shoulders, her forehead presses into his temple, and she holds him tight, like she could become one with him if she tried hard enough-- and she was certainly trying.  
  
"If I may," the older vulcan suddenly speaks up, startling Nyota slightly as she remembers he's there at all, and she looks up to watch him delicately lower himself to the ground across from them by the grave, in a surprisingly un-vulcan gesture that strikes her both as foreign and familiar. "I do not know your situation in its entirety... but from what I have been able to gather, I think the two of you will make loving parents some day. I never had children of my own, and it warms my heart to see that you will have the chance I did not, Mr. Spock."  
  
Looking from Spock to the other Vulcan, she frowns, eyebrows twitching. They looked related in some way, in the same line as his father had. But if he'd had no children, that took the 'grandfather' option away-- "I'm sorry if I've been rude," She says, somberly, to the man, "Thank you for your words, I'm Nyota Uhura. You were close with the family?" She asks, glancing down at Spock, then up at the other.  
  
The two vulcans exchange looks as they both seem to realize they'd entirely forgotten to introduce the elder to her. There is an identical twinkle in their matching black eyes as they simultaneously come to the conclusion that it hadn't even occurred to them to introduce him to her because of the very nature of his existence.   
  
"In a manner of speaking," the elder says.   
  
"Nyota," Spock gestures across from him at the older man. "This is... myself. It was his accidental intervention in our world that lead things to come to pass in the way that they did."  
  
"A pleasure to meet you properly," says the older Spock with a somewhat mischievious gleam in his eye. "I am also Mr. Spock."  
  
In truth, it makes more sense than it doesn't. It explains the similarities in appearance and mannerism. Even the way he sits in front of them now, cross-legged and informal, could never be the work of an elder raised in Vulcan society-- but a half-human, timeline-adjacent Spock? Yeah, that she could see.  
  
"Spock's trust isn't easily won," She says with a look to her partner, still in her arms, "Of course himself is one of the few people on that list," Nyota says with a dry bit of humor, "Is there a reason you had no children, Mr. Spock?" She doesn't ask about herself, and hopes bad news isn't part of the reason; Though his arrival to their world at all implies their timelines have now diverged. Hopeful.  
  
"I never had a wife," the elder Spock says plainly. "Not only did I never have one, I never wanted one. In plain terms, I am surprised to find that any version of myself is interested in women romantically. I suppose the infinite multiverse theory does imply _infinite_ universes, and that it stands to reason not every one of my doubles would be exactly like me in every way-- but in the world I come from, Nyota and I were nothing but old friends."  
  
"I see," She admits, sounding interested, but not surprised, "I'm sure my curiosity in our reality's differences are far less than your own." Uhura says, looking to her Spock, "We'll have children some day," she explains to the elder with the confidence of someone who had already seen the future, despite having no such guarantee, "Perhaps we'll name our son Spock, to add a third to this dimension," Her voice is teasing, trying to lighten the mood and unsure just what she could even ask if she were to ask anything at all.  
  
The elder Spock gives a warm smile that pings something in Nyota's heart. He really does look so much like Spock, and it occurs to her that she's looking at her future with Spock-- if she even lives long enough to see him this old. They hadn't really had the "lifespans" talk, but she knows they will someday.   
  
"I have a hard time believing that any version of me would want to name his son after himself," the older Spock says. "But looking at the two of you now, I have no doubts you will be parents. There is an air of inevitability about you."   
  
"If you never married, does that mean that our family stopped with you back in your world?" the younger Spock asks with a furrow in his brow.   
  
"I did not say I never married," the older Spock replies. "I said I never had a wife. I married my timeline's Jim Kirk."   
  
The younger Spock takes this new information silently. He feels something strange in his chest, something he refuses to take the time to identify, and instead locks away for later scrutiny as hiw brow furrows. "I see."  
  
"Oh, we would do well not to let _that_ be known, or he will be _incorrigible_," Uhura says with just a note of amusement. It makes sense, honestly, having seen the way the two of them have interacted; If her longstanding relationship with Spock hadn't begun, who else was better to marry the Vulcan than another human who could put him in his place?   
  
Uhura's fingers settle in Spock's hair, combing it down where her fingers had mussed it before, slowly beginning to set him right after his emotional outburst, "May I ask what your plans are, now that you're with us? Will you teach at the Academy? _Did_ you teach, once?"  
  
"I never found my way to teaching," the older Spock says as he stands up from the grass, and offers them each a hand to help them stand, a gesture which, again, is not lost on Nyota as she accepts his help up. "I will go to New Vulcan, and assist in the colonization of the chosen planet. In my twilight years I hope to establish my people's future, and do everything in my power to begin the process of correcting the grievous crime I have committed by interfering in your world's timeline."  
  
"The fault of crimes lie entirely with those who perform them," Uhura says, dusting herself off and managing to keep a respectful distance from her timeline's Spock. Alternate version of himself he may be, Uhura still had no desire to make him uncomfortable with physical affection; "The Romulans made their choice, and now we must deal with it. Your plan sounds admirable. I have no doubt you will do exemplary, as you do in most things," Nyota smiles over at the elder Spock, "Two Spocks in one Universe could do a lot of good, I suspect."  
  
"I suppose we could, but I get the feeling that my strapping young counterpart here will not slow down long enough for that to come to pass," the elder Spock chuckles.  
  
"I may, in time," the younger Spock retorts, but they both know it's unlikely. "Presumably, one day I will be as old as you, at which point I believe I will be very slow indeed."  
  
Nyota's never heard a vulcan belly laugh before, but she likes the sound immediately. As she watches the elder Spock scruff his younger double by the back of the neck, wringing the sort of smile out of her boyfriend that he tries desperately to stifle, she decides then and there that she loves this Spock, too.


	11. Chapter 11

There are few things, Spock has found, that have ever made him feel worse than watching his planet die. The sheer magnitude of a loss at that scale was unthinkable, and for any one person to have to survive with that kind of guilt is nearly unbearable. The suicide rate for vulcans, ironically, has increased from a mere 3% to a shockingly high 14% which is a worrying stastic given how few there are left, but the guilt of surviving when others could not, the horror of outliving most everyone they'd ever come to know and love, was too much for some vulcans, who didn't have the same resources that Spock had, encouraging them to talk about their feelings. Vulcans repressed and suppressed, and more and more often lately, that seems to be backfiring on them.   
  
But leave it to James Kirk, in the midst of the aftershocks of all that dispair and anguish, to try and up the stakes.   
  
To lose a planet and billions of lives is almost such a monstrous scale that it can be hard to conceptualize the idea of six billion lives, each with their own goals and dreams and ambitions and families all snuffed out like a candle. One mind wasn't meant to understand something on such a global scope.   
  
But to lose one man, one single man who Spock had found a growing affection for take root in his chest over the last few years? To lose him through a sheet of glass, unable to save him, unable to even touch him, unable to do anything but listen to his fear and watch him die? There was no greater pain.   
  
He has no doubts that had McCoy not found the way to bring him back, he would have slipped into a depression so deep following the completion of their mission that he might never have roused again. It were those same thoughts that planted him resolutely at Jim's side following his admission into a starfleet hospital, and those same thoughts that kept him there for days on end.   
  
Spock didn't know when Jim would awaken, and McCoy has prepared him for the potential that he might _never_ wake up, but for once, Spock doesn't want to consider all the alternatives. He doesn't want to be logical. He wants to cling to the vain, desperate hope that Jim will wake up one of these days, and they'll all be a family again on the Enterprise.  
  
"He won't leave, not even to eat. I'm just, y'know, worried about him, I guess..." McCoy's voice message played on loop in the back of Uhura's mind as she walked to the med bay. She'd been spending a decent amount of time there, plying Spock with food and bringing him water lest he waste away and take root at their Captain's side. The message didn't say anything new. No changes to Kirk's condition. Spock still at his side. Spock would probably send word of his health before even McCoy could get to him.  
  
She wasn't surprised, not at this. Their relationship had grown complicated in the way many do with exposure, and after their conversation with Spock's alternate a year ago, it was easy to see where the pricklings of a relationship grew. Leave it to Kirk to try and die before either of them got closure; Nyota would have to talk to him about that sternly when he woke up.   
  
_When_. Like Spock, she spoke in absolutes and with optimism, although hers seemed to come from a deep-felt belief in his health, whereas Spock's seemed bordering on denial.   
  
"Spock?" Nyota's knock is gentle on the door so as not to rouse the patients on either side of the room, and she lets herself in without waiting for an invitation. Her eyes find him messy-haired, green-eyed, and weary; He looks less like himself and more like a failing caricature of a Vulcan, slumped over in what could nearly be considered defeat, if she didn't know any better, "Bones sends his regards. Have you slept?"  
  
She already knows the answer. Of course not.  
  
"I have been unable to meditate," Spock responds, his voice croaky and dry. He rubs a hand over his jaw, where days-old stubble has made him itchy-- he has always preferred to remain clean shaven. "On occasion I find myself drifting, regardless. Sleep is often much less satisfying than meditation, but it would seem as of late that my body will take what it can get."  
  
"Maybe you should try to do either," Uhura says, her voice gentle as she glances down at Kirk on the bed between them, "The captain will be here when you return, and he deserves to wake up to you at your best, doesn't he?" Her voice is gentle as she rounds the room to his side, a hand going to his hair, "He'll be so disappointed to think you've let yourself go."  
  
"Perhaps he will," Spock says, scrubbing his hands over his eyes. "However, I find that I do not care. I would rather stay at his side and be here when he awakens. I do not want him to wake up alone."  
  
"He wouldn't be alone," She murmurs, seriously, "I could stay, if it meant you got to get some sleep," Uhura glances down at Kirk, then Spock, concern drawing her eyebrows together and her lips into a frown.  
  
Spock stares down at Kirk for a moment, his brow furrowed as he considers this. If it was truly a matter of just not wanting him to wake up alone, then why does the thought of leaving him in someone else's watchful care make his chest ache from the inside out like he's dying?  
  
"I do not think that would suffice," he communicates to the best of his abilities. "I find that I must be the one at his side when he awakens. It is... challenging to explain."  
  
"Try," Uhura pushes, her voice soft, "Do you feel guilty? You know you did everything you could."  
  
"Of course I feel guilty," Spock repeats it almost meanly, but his fire immediately subsides and he gives a heavy, exhausted sigh. He props his elbows on the side of Jim's bed and leans his face into them, resting his eyes against his palms. "It is pure selfishness keeping me here. It is not logical. I want him to understand the weight of his importance to me, that I would put aside all personal matters in favor of remaining loyally at his side. It... _feels_ wrong, to leave him for any length of time, even just to shower or sleep."  
  
"What is the weight of his importance?" She asks, voice softly urgent. Spock wouldn't leave. Not when he was busy being consumed with guilt and unresolved feelings he didn't even know he was coping with.  
  
Spock is silent again as he thinks, lifting his face out of his hands. His eyes are green, bloodshot and shiny as he looks down at Jim, and he feels his chest clench.   
  
"Astronomical," he finally answers, his voice broken and sad.  
  
"Jim is going to need you when he wakes up, Spock," Uhura murmurs empathetically, "You can't do anything for him, wasting away here," Her fingers drift to his chin, tugging his chin up to look her in the eye, "Let someone else watch him, just for a little while. We'll keep him safe."  
  
Spock looks up at her, his expression exhausted. "I do not want to leave him, Nyota," he whispers, his words strained, almost afraid. He is afraid. This level of emotion for another person is always terrifying.   
  
He _sounds_ afraid. Kirk, for all intents and purposes, is alright. Comatose and unresponsive, but not dying, nor in danger. It was an agonizing situation, but the actual fear in Spock's voice had to come from somewhere else. It was almost as if he was afraid to talk to her, specifically.   
  
"Spock," Nyota says, still cradling his jaw, her fingers tight on his chin, "I want you to take care of yourself. Kirk would want you to, too."  
  
"Be that as it may, Nyota, I... cannot bear to leave him," Spock says, giving her a wounded look. "The thought of leaving his side manifests a physical pain in my chest. I was not there to rescue him, I had to sit apart from him and watch him die. I had to _watch_ him, Nyota... in that moment I would have broken the glass to pull him out even if the radiation would have made me sick as well-- the only reason I did not is that I was not the only person in engineering, and I... _regret_ that decision. I _regret_ that I did not poison my own friends in order to touch him. I am afraid of these feelings. I am afraid of what they mean."  
  
"Why do they have to mean anything more than what they are?" She asks, pulling her hands away from his face.  
  
Spock's eyes water again and he closes them to try and resist the urge to cry before he looks back down at Kirk. "When he was... dying," he says, afraid to even utter the word out loud, an illogical superstitious fear. "He told me something. He said that the reason he went back for me in that volcano was because he loved me."  
  
"Are you surprised?" She asks, leaning back to tug a tissue free from the side table and holding it out to him, expectantly. She watches him for a second, urging him to go on with a nod, "Remember what your older self told us about himself?"  
  
Spock takes the tissue and dabs delicately at his eyes, still frowning. "I suppose given that fact it should not surprise me... and yet it did. I feel guilt over the fact that when he said that, I was... happy. And then I was angry that he did not tell me sooner. When the subject of infidelity comes up between humans, it is often sexual unfaithfulness that is brought up as the worst form, but it is not so, with Vulcans. To gain emotional affection for another person while you are promised to someone else is the lowest form of adultery. I am ashamed."  
  
Uhura nods, slowly, "I see," Is all she says for a while, going silent as she watches Kirk sleep, calm and serene as he was.  
  
When she finally speaks again, it's with a deep huff of a sigh taken as a preamble; "How much do you know about Polyamory, Spock? " She asks, sounding genuine, "Its popularity? Both within human cultures and our relationship in merging it other species? I would imagine the concept hasn't yet made it out of human culture, no?" She asks, eyes on Spock.  
  
Spock looks up in surprise, his brow furrowed. The sudden change in subject is jarring to him. "I am familiar with the concept of polygamy," he says. "In which one man takes multiple wives in order to produce numerous progeny, but the concept was largely wiped out by the mid-21st century, due to its overt mysogynistic undertones and ties with religion."  
  
"Yes, that is polygamy," She agrees, sounding patient, "Polyamory isn't really different, however it serves a much less utilitarian purpose. Around the early 2000s it became popularized as the definition of a modern family began to change from the traditional nuclear family set up into much more specialized groups depending on the culture one was born in. It is the concept of engaging with multiple people, but on a romantic level. Simultaneously, not apart."  
  
Spock listens objectively, but as Uhura continues, he's starting to put together the pieces, and he looks from her down to the sleeping Kirk, and then back up to her. "Are you suggesting that dynamic for our relationship?"  
  
"Depends. Have you fallen out of love with me completely?" She asks, and her voice is short and unemotional. She realizes she might be setting herself up for bad news with the question, but she has faith he won't let her down.  
  
"No," Spock says, his tone adamanet as he turns away from Jim to face her, and takes her hands in his. "No, absolutely not. That is why this conflict has been so difficult for me... to have feelings of equal strength for multiple people has been challenging to reconcile. My love for you is as strong if not stronger than it was the day we intiated our relationship."  
  
In response she smiles. It comes easily, her head dipping low to press a soft, chaste kiss to Spock's forehead-- The public nature of the hospital be damned. Her thumbs graze across Spock's knuckles, and she nods, humming softly, "Then why would I stop you? I'm not about to let myself feel threatened by _James Kirk_," She teases, looking fondly down at the bed, "He would never let me live it down if he heard."  
  
"I was under the impression that fidelity was important to humans," Spock says, looking between Uhura and the sleeping captain. "This is... not a trick, is it?"  
  
She shakes her head, leaning back, "Fidelity requires the open and honest communication of all partners involved. We're making this choice together, so you can be happy. That isn't infidelity at all."  
  
Spock processes this information slowly and deliberately, watching her face for a moment before looking back at Jim, resisting the urge to reach out and take his hand. "I see," he says, swallowing hard. "Then... you would be agreeable to the idea of me pursuing a relationship with Jim after he awakens, in addition to my relationship with you?"  
  
"Yes, you have my permission, under the condition that you take care of yourself," Her tone leaves no room for debate, "I won't sit and watch you deteriorate at his bedside. You absolutely have to sleep and eat regularly. I know you're worried, but you're no good to anyone if you're too weak to hold a cup of water, agreed?"  
  
Spock looks at her again for a long moment, and then down at himself, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he hasn't showered in a week, much less shaved or gotten a decent night's sleep, and if it weren't for Nyota, he wouldn't be eating, either. It comes into sharp focus then how very weary he is.   
  
Looking back up from Jim's sleeping face to his concerned girlfriend, he says, "Perhaps I could tolerate an hour away from this room. Long enough to get cleaned up and pack a bag with changes of clothes... you will watch him?"  
  
"I'll watch him," She agrees, and holds up four fingers, "Four hours. Shower. Eat. Sit quietly or sleep, I don't care. Step away for four hours, come back, and I'll allow you back." There's still no room for argument in her tone, and her eyes pointedly look like she's daring him to challenge her.  
  
He looks for a moment like he wants to haggle, but thinks better of it when he gets a look at her face. He sighs softly. "On one condition," he says. "If he wakes while I am gone, you will alert me, regardless of whether it has been three hours or three minutes."  
  
"I have no doubt that the sheer force of the Universe would teleport you to my side immediately once he wakes up," Uhura says dryly, then nudges at his shoulder, "Up. I will call if he wakes up, but he probably won't. Once you get back, we can discuss a break pattern that suits you."  
  
Spock nods, and stands stiffly from his seat, aware of how long it's been since a proper deep meditation has been able to relax his body. He stretches his neck and shoulders for a moment before stooping down to steal a kiss from her and heading for the door. He has a lot to think about as he waits for Jim to wake up, but for once he feels hopeful for the human's inevitable recovery, rather than gripping desperately to the denial that anything could go wrong. It's not much to go on, but at this point he'll take anything to keep from backsliding into despair. 


End file.
